


Trade Bargain

by karenmcfadyyon



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-28
Updated: 2010-04-28
Packaged: 2017-10-09 05:26:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 45,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/83513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karenmcfadyyon/pseuds/karenmcfadyyon





	1. Chapter 1

The planet was called Gansha, and they were high in the mountains. It was cold and Rodney McKay hated high altitudes, and the tea served by the Shanri, the religious cum political leader of the people who called themselves the Ganshari, was hideously bitter.

Rodney let the mouthful he'd tried to take slip back into the cup and nodded, his expression as polite as that taste could leave it.

Teyla, who spoke the Ganshari trade tongue, was speaking earnestly and, Rodney hoped, diplomatically to the Shanri. John Sheppard's negotiation skills were, to say the least, primitive, and his own were virtually non-existent.

"Is this really tea?" John's lips barely moved. "This is awful."

"Why yes, it is." Rodney smiled at the Shanri. "Teyla says it's tea. And we trust Teyla."

"True." John took a breath, took another swallow without breathing.

Rodney eyed him. "I don't think vomiting on the Shanri's feet would be much of a diplomatic coup, you know. Why are you drinking it?"

"Because it's polite," John said and smiled at the Shanri, too. "In a lot of cultures, it's a sign of trust, and Teyla says this is one of those cultures."

Teyla's voice rose slightly, as if she were startled or disturbed. Rodney looked at her sharply and saw she was questioning the Shanri, who was smiling serenely and gesturing.

After a moment, Teyla bowed her head, looked sidelong at John, and cleared her throat. "She has named her trade price."

"And?" John kept smiling.

"I do not think she is serious." Teyla was, however, and Teyla was, Rodney thought, a little embarrassed. "But she says if the two of you share pleasure with one another while she watches, she will give us what we ask."

John's expression was astonished. Rodney opened his mouth, closed it again, and tried to choose his words carefully. "Teyla, are you sure you speak this language?"

She glanced at him, grimaced a little. "I am sure."

The Shanri spoke again, laughed toothlessly.

"Teyla," John began.

Teyla coughed. "I'm sorry, I did misunderstand her. Not merely pleasure, but the act of joining."

They both stared at her.

"This has got to be a joke," Rodney said.

"Wait a minute," John said and jabbed him with an elbow. "Teyla, are you sure that's what she said? Because that's a little nuts."

Teyla gave him an almost exasperated look. "That is what she said. I do not know what she will say if you agree, however, and I cannot believe she is serious. We have traded many years with the Ganshari, and no one has ever reported such a price before."

John stared at her. "Tell her we have to discuss it."

Rodney jabbed him back. "Are you insane?"

"Rodney." Warning tone, and John rose and bowed, drew him aside after he did the same. "Just to make sure I'm not hallucinating from that tea, did she just say what I thought she said?"

Rodney looked at him, incredulous. "If you thought she said she'd give us the extra ZPMs if we had sex, that was pretty much my understanding. And, I might add, Teyla's understanding." He glanced in the Shanri's direction. She was a wizened little monkey of an old woman, dressed in robes of what looked very like quilted scarlet silk, unencumbered by decorative touches, silver hair braided into a crown. Her advisors were dressed more soberly, but also in quilted silk. Their culture and dress and even their facial features reminded Rodney a great deal of Tibet, or had until now.

"Okay, right, that's what I thought I heard." John sounded stunned. "Even if Teyla used more diplomatic language." He looked at Rodney, looked away toward Teyla. "Teyla, are you sure you got the participants right? She wants me and Rodney to, uh—" He gestured vaguely. "Not you and me or you and Rodney?"

Teyla's expression was shading toward amusement now. "I am sure, but I will ask again." She spoke to the Shanri in a low voice, and the old woman cackled again, spoke, and pointed at them.

Teyla coughed. "She says yes, it is the two of you she wishes to see, for you are both comely and virile."

Comely and virile was flattering, but really. He rolled his eyes. "I think that's pretty definitive, major. You, me, no wine, no flowers." Of course, it had to be John here with him. Major Pretty Boy Football Hero Sheppard hearing all this. The only plus was that John was unlikely to ever want to repeat any of this in public and Teyla was by nature a private person, not a gossip.

God, he'd been so excited to see these readings when they'd arrived on Gansha, so damned hopeful, and he'd forgotten that cultural weirdness could get in the way. Why the hell hadn't they brought an anthropologist? They needed an anthropologist on the team. If only the SGC had allowed Daniel Jackson to come with them.

"Dammit, we need those ZPMs. The Wraith are getting closer." John was staring at the Shanri again and there was something dangerously speculative in his expression.

"Wonderful grasp of the obvious as always," Rodney hissed. "Do you have any other insights you'd like to offer, Major?"

"Well, I was wondering how she defined sex. I mean, really, how bad could it be if, you know?" He gestured with one hand.

One of them had clearly lost their mind, not to mention their place in the conversation. "Did you just suggest we masturbate each other to get the ZPMs?"

John didn't quite look at him. "I'm just saying, we need those ZPMs. Those Wraith ships are getting closer. We can't afFord to lose the city or the gate and then there's the little matter of the fact that I really don't wanna die."

"Are you talking yourself into this?" God, his head was starting to pound, and not in a good way. "Are you seriously trying to talk yourself into this?"

John's gaze skittered around the room. "And if she wants more than that. Uh. Well."

He was trapped in some alternate universe. Hadn't SG-1 experienced alternate universes? He was sure they had, and somehow, somewhere, and somewhen, he'd wandered into one. "Are you certifiably whacked? She said act of joining. That means fucking, Major, and I'm not going to bend over and grab my ankles."

Now he was sure of it, John was avoiding his gaze and who knew anyone with coloring that dark could go that scarlet? "I wouldn't, I mean, if that was necessary, you could, ah, do me."

Okay, maybe he was the one who'd lost his mind.

Images he did not need to have appeared full blown in his head, and he was grateful they were wearing Athosian style winter gear over their own which would hide the fact that John's stammered offer had bypassed his brain and gone straight to his groin. He looked over to see Teyla trying to pretend she wasn't hearing their conversation. He lowered his voice another notch. "Have you ever had sex with another man, Major?" God, more images he didn't need.

John twitched at the question, his eyes still on the Shanri. "No, of course not, I'm military."

"Oh, please, as if that makes any difference." Rodney took a grip on his temper and his libido. "So you're willing for me to do you. Are you laboring under the delusion that I'd jump at the chance to fuck you because all scientists are faggots?"

"I didn't say that," John protested and looked at him finally. "Jesus, you're going to hurt yourself jumping to conclusions here, Rodney. I didn't say you wanted to, I was just—I can't, oh, hell, never mind, it's just that we need those ZPMs."

"And you're willing to give your all? You're making a huge assumption with no evidence. Not to mention venturing into a situation that can only go very, very, very wrong. You've never been fucked before, and you're asking me to fuck you?" Despite his temper, he couldn't help noticing that John was now so red he looked on the verge of a stroke. And frankly, the thought of fucking the football hero was continuing to have that inappropriate affect on his libido. Focus on reality, Rodney, he told himself sharply. "Do you have anything for lubricant, John, or were you just thinking sunscreen, and do you really want sunscreen in a place the sun never shines? I certainly wouldn't, and unless you're one of those guys who carries a condom in his wallet, there's the question of safe sex, and while we're discussing that, let's think about what happens when we get back and how we're going to explain to Elizabeth that we didn't really need the trade goods because I fucked you in front of the Shanri of Gansha. Assuming we ever do get back home to Earth, I don't think that's the kind of negotiation that earns you a medal, even if you do close your eyes and think of the flag, Mom and apple pie."

John raised his hand, and his gaze skittered away again. "Okay, okay, okay, I was obviously thinking in desperation mode." There was a slightly hysterical note in John's voice.

"Obviously." He relented. "This is all completely aside from the fact that I can't believe anyone is insane enough to make a requirement like this. It's got to be some kind of test of our character. I'm going to have Teyla talk to her and for God's sake, you keep quiet." He gave John a long look before taking the few steps over. "Teyla, I would like you to explain that we cannot meet this price. It would not be at all appropriate for the Major to engage in intimacy with another man according to the standards of his military culture."

The Shanri was watching him, that evil old woman, and he was halfway certain she understood what had just happened.

He was so furious it was hard to keep his tone properly diplomatic, but Teyla, and the Shanri and her advisors all looked fairly calm, so he must sound more courteous than he felt. He glanced at John, who was still scarlet enough to send Carson Beckett into a tizzy, and wanted to hit something. Or someone.

The Shanri's eyes were shrewd in that wizened face and she watched him, even as she spoke to Teyla.

Teyla looked at him apologetically. "She says, 'But for you, this is not a problem?' McKay."

He decided he wanted to hit the Shanri first, then John. "Tell her this, Teyla. It is. But for me, it's a more personal problem. It wouldn't be a problem if it were something we had chosen between ourselves in privacy, but it is a problem if someone to attempts to coerce us into engaging in such intimacy and it's particularly a problem if someone attempts to coerce us into engaging in such intimacy for someone else's amusement. In asking us to pay such a price for something we need, she's asking us to violate our own cultural mores and, therefore, each other."

Teyla offered him a grave smile, nodded, and turned to the Shanri.

There was another long silence. He wasn't sure where his burst of eloquence had come from, but if it worked, he wasn't going to worry about it. The Shanri never stopped staring at him, put a hand over Teyla's and spoke briefly.

There was an approving glint in Teyla's gaze when she looked at him. "She says, you are honest. Your friend attempted to coerce you."

He glanced at poor John, who was still clearly mortified and felt oddly protective of John's reputation. "You took us by surprise, and he knows how badly we need these. He did not attempt to coerce me; he attempted to convince himself that he could accept it. No more than that."

Teyla spoke again.

Rodney took in a deep breath. His pulse had slowed, and he no longer felt the urgent desire to punch anyone.

Teyla definitely approved of his handling of matters; he could tell by the way she looked at him. "She wishes to see your palms, McKay."

"My palms?" Well, what the hell. He extended his hands, palm up.

The Shanri took each hand in one of hers and studied his palms for an embarrassingly long moment before she released him and spoke to Teyla.

Teyla brightened visibly. "She says they need only those in the temple and that we may have two of them in return for your honesty." She glanced at John as the Shanri continued to speak, patting Teyla's hand. "She says that you are to go to the lower temple antechamber, McKay and she will have two of them brought to you. She wishes to speak to Major Sheppard for a moment."

He glanced at John again, felt worry knot his gut and willed John to get his balance again. Still, Teyla was levelheaded and spoke the language. "I'll wait for the two of you there," he told her and followed one of the Shanri's attendants out.

In the antechamber, the attendant vanished, returning in a matter of moments with a woven carryall. He looked inside, saw two carefully wrapped modules, and accepted it with a gesture of thanks. At least he hoped it was thanks; he'd seen Teyla make the same gesture, but languages weren't his specialty. At least he didn't appear to have offended the woman who glided back into the central temple chamber.

He hoped to God Teyla kept John from falling into any more traps.

The antechamber was interesting, carved in fantastic designs that made no sense to his eyes. There were patterns everywhere, except for the corners, where grinning creatures of stone crouched, not quite like gargoyles, but eerily reminiscent. They gave him the creeps, and it was taking too damn long in there, whatever was going on.

When Teyla and John finally came out, John was alarmingly pale. Teyla's expression was grave, but not disturbed, so he addressed her first. "What did she want with him?"

"That is between the Major and the Shanri," she told him quietly.

He turned to John, but John appeared to be pretending he hadn't asked anything. "Ready?" John asked.

Rodney frowned at him. John's gaze seemed a bit unfocused. "Major?"

For an instant, he thought John was going to faint, and started forward as John sank down to an almost boneless crouch, head cradled in his arms.

"Major?" He and Teyla crouched down in front of John, and he put a hand on John's shoulder. "What the hell is wrong with you?" Letting annoyance cover fear.

Teyla gave him a reproachful look.

John peered at them, eyes still not tracking. "I just—I'm fine. I must have gotten up too fast."

Gotten up too fast? John must have knelt again, that was the only thing that made sense. And he didn't look fine. Rodney stood up, offered a hand.

"I'm okay," John repeated, but he licked his lips, grimaced as if he could still taste the Shanri's bitter tea. "I'm okay."

Still unfocused. Rodney frowned and exchanged a look with Teyla, who put a hand on John's shoulder.

"Major, are you sure? You're very pale. The incense might have made you dizzy."

"I'm sure." But John took Rodney's hand to steady himself, pushed himself back upright. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." He was worried now. "Let's get the hell out of here. And before we do, I'd suggest we keep the better part of our conversations in there between the three of us."

"Agreed." It was obvious that Teyla didn't quite understand the whole cultural thing, but she understood that it was private.

John's expression was grateful. "I agree." He cleared his throat. "Good job, by the way. I had my head up my ass, I guess."

That eased Rodney's temper, not that his temper had been aimed at John. No, his temper was for the Shanri and for himself for his own response to John's suggestion. And because he felt like projecting some of that on the man who had presented the temptation, he said, "Yes, you did. You totally misunderstood what was happening and you made assumptions about me you had no right or reason to make. And I accept your apology."

Teyla gave him another disapproving look. He ignored this one, too.

"Thanks," John repeated, clearly still mortified.

He looked sharply at John, could swear he saw the pulse beating too quickly at the base of John's throat. "Are you sure you're all right?"

John swallowed audibly. "That tea sucked, but I'm fine. Let's go home."

So they did.


	2. Chapter 2

"So the ZPMs are more depleted than we'd hoped, but they will provide us enough power to shield critical parts of the city for a limited time period." Elizabeth glanced around the room. "Define time period."

"Barring the unexpected, my calculations indicate we can shield the city for a maximum of three years once we initiate the shield." Rodney glanced at Zelenka, who was, for once, nodding in agreement with him. "Possibly more, if we can maximize the efficiency of the naquadah generators or if we can find more naquadah."

Elizabeth didn't look entirely happy, which surprised him. When they'd returned, three days earlier, Elizabeth had been damn near ecstatic, even if John had astonished her by crediting Rodney with the success. "Can you explain the differences between the readings on Gansha and what we actually got?" she asked.

"Elizabeth, we got them without cost," Rodney said. "But the differences could be due to several variants. Either they have a lot more ZPMs hidden away, or it's some mineral in the stone that makes up the temple that amplifies their own ZPMs or it's some mineral in the stone that amplifies the readings of the ZPMs in use and the ZPMs that were stored. I'm hoping it's something in the stone, because that might give us the opportunity to reproduce it."

"Or," Zelenka said gravely, "The properties of the stone affected our instruments."

"Yes, yes, that's a possibility, too." Rodney gave him an impatient look.

"The Ganshari have agreed that we can send a team to study the temple and its surroundings," Elizabeth said and glanced around the table. "Now that you have our shield capability set up and ready to activate, I think it's a good idea. Teyla is willing to go and translate. And Major, now that we have shields in place here, I'd like you to take a few of your men and accompany them."

"On a study trip?" John's tone was dismayed. "Is that really necessary? The Ganshari are a peaceful people with, I might add, a shield generator of some kind."

"Precisely," Rodney agreed, irritated. "There's absolutely no need for a security force and there's absolutely nothing that the Major can do there."

Elizabeth gave him a warning look. "This isn't negotiable. If you're going, Major Sheppard is going with you. Besides, they've requested you both."

Rodney looked at John and was only mildly reassured to see that John was as horrified as he was. After a moment, he shrugged. "If you insist, but I think it's a waste of the Major's time and talents. Surely there must be something for him to do that involves blowing something up."

Elizabeth gave him another warning look. "That's all then, people. Rodney, a word, please."

Rodney glanced at John, who was directing what he could have sworn was an apologetic look his way before making his own escape.

When the room had emptied, Weir cleared her throat. "Rodney, I don't generally interfere with any interpersonal issues that my team experiences because I trust that you're all adults and can work together regardless. However, you and John are in an unusual position, and I want you to take this opportunity to work out whatever problems you have with one another. In fact, I insist upon it."

"Problems?" His jaw dropped, he couldn't prevent it. "We don't have interpersonal problems, Elizabeth. Well, no more than we ever have, and that's not what I'd consider a problem, it's just the way we relate."

Her expression was disbelieving. "I want both of you to clear this up."

"Does he have a problem with me?" In spite of himself, he heard his voice rise slightly, tamped it down again. "Because I don't have any problem with him."

Her expression didn't change. "Just take care of it, Rodney. I've already told John the same thing."

Why would she think that there was a—oh, dear God, they'd both been avoiding each other since their return from Gansha, and knowing Elizabeth, she saw that as a sign of conflict. No wonder John had offered him an apologetic look.

He wondered how they were going to work out a problem they didn't have. He didn't really have any great ideas for easing John past his embarrassment and frankly, his own reaction to seeing John flushed was becoming embarrassing on its own. Usually he would have found that fodder for amusement and more support for his hazy opinion that John was the usual pretty boy jock asshole; for some reason, all he could remember was John's embarrassment and, God help him, willingness to bottom.

They had to come face to face in the gateroom, of course and after circling the room, John appeared next to him. "Do we, ah, have a problem?"

That was unexpected enough that he looked directly at John. "Not that I'm aware, why?"

"Elizabeth thinks we have a problem." John's face was a little flushed. "I just wondered if, well, we did. Or if you had a clue why she thinks so?"

"No, I don't. She muttered something about avoiding each other, but I haven't been avoiding you." Which wasn't true, of course, but he wasn't admitting it.

"Avoiding each other," John muttered and his color got a little higher. "Well, I haven't been avoiding you, either. Where's she getting this?"

"I have no idea." Rodney watched as the next to last chevron locked, more to avoid looking at John than anything else. When John blushed like that, it was easy to forget how many guys he'd known like this. It was too easy to like him, to forget to keep his guard up and worse yet, to think about those images of John naked that kept springing to mind at inopportune moments. "Last time I checked, the Ancient gene didn't bestow telepathic abilities. Why didn't you ask her?"

That got a frown. "Why didn't you?"

"I assumed you had the problem alnd that you'd complained." He kept his tone bland.

"Why would you—that I'd complained?" John didn't quite sound incredulous. "About what?"

Rodney eyed him. "Elizabeth didn't say."

"Probably because I didn't." John's expression was confused. "What the hell would I have to complain about? We haven't worked together since we went to—oh." His eyes narrowed. "Why the hell would I complain about any of that? It was my fault, you got it right."

The last chevron locked.

"Yes, it was your fault, and of course I got it right." Rodney rolled his eyes. "Major, try not to lose sight of the fact that you didn't complain, Elizabeth didn't say you complained, it was my guess as to why she thought we might have a problem. Clearly, we don't, so attempting to determine what might have caused a problem that doesn't exist is fruitless."

The event horizon formed with the usual whoosh.

John flushed again. "Except that I'd still like to know why she thinks we have a problem when I told her we don't."

He was getting tired of the subject. "Ask her, then." He couldn't help snarling it, the whole conversation was getting on his nerves, and John's uncharacteristically conciliatory approach didn't help. The wounded expression that flickered across John's face only fed his irritation. "Or, if you're ready, we can go and I can actually get something useful done."

"Sure." And the wounded expression shifted to wooden instead. "Okay, people, let's move it out."

He should have felt vague satisfaction over that. Instead, as he watched John walk away, he felt regretful.

Once on the planet, however, he forgot completely.

 

It was winter on the planet, and as the Ganshari settlement was in the mountain range, it was exceedingly wintry, even inside the central temple where the Ancients' artifacts were housed. The readings and the mineral samples and Rodney's own frustrating inability to figure the former out kept him too occupied to worry about anyone's feelings until late in the first evening, when they all settled into the quarters set aside for them in the Ganshari temple precinct.

While the section allotted to the team was comfortable, it wasn't particularly roomy and, as Rodney discovered, they were doubled up in the small rooms.

Sometimes it paid to be an obnoxious son of a bitch; he apparently had his room to himself, or so he guessed after an hour when no one else appeared. He was absently congratulating himself on that fact when Kavanaugh appeared in the doorway. "McKay," Kavanaugh said, "Ah, this is, ah, your room."

He glanced up, sighed inwardly. "Brilliant grasp of the obvious as always. I take it you're my roommate for the duration."

Kavanaugh hesitated. "No, I was looking for Sheppard."

"I haven't seen him, don't know where he's staying." He went back to studying numbers, absently listening as Kavanaugh's footsteps went down the corridor. He lost himself in the data for a while until the footsteps came back. "Now what?" he asked, not looking up.

"Nothing."

He looked up to see John, who said, "I guess we're roomies," walked over to the other narrow bed and dropped his pack on it.

Startled, Rodney leaned back. "Oh, ah, okay." Then, curiously, "Where have you been all afternoon?"

"With Teyla and the Shanri." John's back was to him. "She wanted to talk to me."

Last time, John's conversation with the Shanri had not been an outstanding success. Rodney frowned, suddenly uneasy. "I can see why you'd want to do that after our stunning success the last time. What did she want to speak to you about?"

"It was personal. Relax, Rodney, everything is fine. No tests, no misunderstandings, nada. " John unzipped his jacket, tossed it at the foot of the bed. "I'm going to get cleaned up, they've got a communal bath down one level."

"A communal bath?"

"Hot springs." John opened his pack, pulled out a small nylon bag and a towel, glanced at Rodney.

Hot springs. That sounded tempting, communal or not. "So what did she want?"

John rolled his eyes. "I told you, it was personal, she just wanted to talk to me. Rodney, relax, I'm being extremely careful not to do or think anything stupid."

Rodney frowned again, still not completely easy with it, but John walked out. After a moment of consideration, he gave into his baser instincts, saved his work, put the laptop aside, and rummaged through his own bag. He caught up with John before he'd reached the stairs. "So you've been careful not to think anything stupid?"

John glanced at him. "Or misinterpret anything." Flatly.

It was tempting to take a jab, but John was being uncharacteristically subdued. "You're being a little hard on yourself over that," he said mildly, and then, "So what is the Shanri's fascination with you? She just loves a man in uniform?"

John grimaced and started down the stairs. "Yeah, right. Let me remind you who got the ZPMs, and it wasn't me. Besides, we were both 'comely and virile', if I remember right."

"Well, of course, smart is sexy." Rodney smirked.

John gave him an odd look. "Some people like cute and dumb."

Rodney couldn't help laughing at that. "So how's that working out for you?" he asked.

"Not much better than smart ever did." John's voice was tired suddenly and he stopped at the bottom of the stairs. "Left, Ford said."

"Left is that way," Rodney pointed out helpfully, and then regretted it when he caught of glimpse of John's eyes.

"Thanks." Dry tone.

"Just making sure you were awake." He pitched his voice to be, well, conciliatory.

John snorted. "Right. Ah, here it is. Ever been to Japan, Rodney?" He pushed open the door and damp heat

"Yes, Tokyo, 1996." The bath was both like and unlike the Japanese baths. There were large wooden barrels, wooden benches, grates in the floor and a stack of large wooden basins. Just inside the door, there were wooden racks, apparently for storing one's clothing while in the bath.

Now that he was here, he was uncomfortably aware that he wasn't in the best shape he'd ever been in, but what the hell. John stripped down without looking at him, which he supposed was pretty natural, given what had happened last time they were on Gansha. He tried to avoid looking at John, but unfortunately, curiosity had always been one of his weaknesses.

And unfortunately, John had a nice ass. It had been a while since he'd seriously looked at another guy's ass, but John's was nice. Nice legs, nice shoulders, chest tapering down to his waist and then down to that very nice ass. And dear God, he was ogling John Sheppard.

He forced himself to concentrate on getting his own clothes off, on wetting himself down and soaping up before rinsing the soap off over a grate and heading into the next room.

The bath was Olympic pool sized, and the general community must have been in earlier because there were only a scattering of people around the edges. He slid into the water and hissed at the heat of it, leaned his head back on the stone edge of the pool and let his eyes half close.

"Dr. McKay."

He opened one eye to see Ford. "Lieutenant."

"Is the Major—oh, there he is."

Rodney tilted his head, saw John lower himself into the pool. Okay, things were getting out of hand, he was noticing John's cock; he closed his eyes again.

"God, that's good," John groaned. "I think I'm getting too old to sit cross-legged."

"Drinking that tea," Rodney said without opening his eyes.

"Don't talk about that tea. I think my taste buds are getting used to it, it doesn't taste quite as hideous as it did."

"You probably have no taste buds left." Rodney smiled a little. "I still can't believe you managed to drink any of it."

"Neither can I. I'm going to send Ford here in there to talk to her tomorrow. That floor is killing my ass." John sighed.

Which unfortunately made him think of John's ass again. Rodney cracked an eyelid open and saw John's head tip backward to rest on the edge of the pool. Ford settled in next to him. "You all right, sir?"

"Just tired."

"You get anything to eat?

"Not yet. Maybe later." John's eyes closed. "God, this feels good."

"It does," Rodney agreed. "Good idea."

John smiled.

"So how's the work going, Dr. McKay?" Ford, apparently abandoned by his commanding officer, leaned forward to address Rodney and Rodney was happy to answer.


	3. Chapter 3

The days passed with relative speed, and a lot of bad temper, given that Rodney wasn't getting anywhere in extracting more information from the Ganshari and even less than anywhere on figuring out why there was a difference in the readings.

When Zelenka asked him at breakfast of the fifth day if he'd had a look at Major Sheppard, he took it for a simply attempt to locate John. When Simpson came to him early in the evening, he was irritable at the interruption, but her expression was so….so indefinably troubling, that he pushed it aside to listen.

"Dr. McKay, have you spoken with Major Sheppard recently?" she asked him, frowning.

"You're the second person to ask me that today." Rodney frowned back at her. "Why?"

"Well," Simpson drew the word out and sighed. "He just doesn't seem quite himself since we got here."

"Define not quite himself?" Rodney's frown deepened and he felt the twinge of a headache begin. Bad enough they couldn't figure out what the hell was amplifying the ZPM energy here, now he had to deal with Sheppard weirdness?

"Very subdued." Simpson sighed again. "Or something. Not that I'm complaining, but it's odd. And he's spending a lot of time with the Shanri. Although Teyla is with him."

He didn't like that. "Did you talk to Ford?"

She nodded. "Lt Ford asked me if you were giving Major Sheppard a hard time about anything. You haven't been, have you? I mean, more than usual?"

That tweaked at his temper. "Than usual?"

She sighed a third time. "Dr. McKay, you know as well as I do that the two of you do your fair share of snapping at each other. I haven't noticed that this time, but you're the one rooming with him, not me. And he did volunteer to do that when Kavanaugh was being an ass and refusing to."

Rodney opened his mouth, found himself speechless for an instant. "Are you telling me that Kavanaugh was supposed to share the room with me?"

"He got the short straw," she said tactlessly and winced. "At least that's what he said. So Major Sheppard said he'd trade with Kavanaugh. Which is how Lt Ford got stuck with Kavanaugh." One corner of her mouth twitched.

Poor Ford, Rodney thought irritably. "Oh. Well, he's seemed perfectly normal in the evening, so far as I can tell." Although, the truth was, John came to bed late and hadn't been very talkative. "Lt. Ford spends more time with him than I do, he should know whether or not his commanding officer is behaving oddly." It was worrying how much time John was spending with the Shanri. Unaccountably, he remembered that the last time she'd spoken with John alone, he'd come out of the temple white as a sheet and decidedly wobbly. "I'll, ah, talk to him," he said uneasily. "Where is he now? With the Shanri?"

Simpson nodded.

Damn. He handed her the rack of mineral samples. "Get these to Serdioukov for me. I'm going to find Sheppard."

She opened her mouth to protest, but he was already hurrying up the stairs to the main level.

John was indeed with the Shanri, but without Teyla. He sat cross-legged face to face with her in a room that was smoky with incense or, Rodney thought, fighting the urge to sneeze, something rather less ordinary than incense. And good lord, Simpson was right. John Sheppard looked pale and significantly thinner. Ganshari cuisine, especially in the temple, was certainly lacking in variety and flavor, but they had MREs, and what the hell was going on with the man? "Major," he said, "I need a word with you."

John's eyebrows rose, but he nodded, murmured something indistinct to the Shanri and got up with surprising grace for a man who surely wasn't all that much younger than he was and who had, apparently, been spending a fair amount of time in a semi-lotus.

Belatedly, Rodney inclined his head respectfully at the Shanri, even though he trusted her even less now.

Out in the hallway, he tapped his finger on John's chest. "What do you think you're doing? You can't find anything else to do but sit in a smoky room with the woman who wanted to see you naked?"

John's mouth flattened out into a thin line. "I'm learning more about their culture and beliefs."

"I didn't realize anthropology was one of your skills, we could have left Brautigan behind this time," Rodney told him dismissively, and regretted it when a small vertical line appeared between John's eyebrows. "Never mind, have you eaten today?"

John's temper seemed to vanish and queasy look replaced it. "I, uh, had an energy bar, why?"

Worse and worse. It was nearly evening. "That's all?"

Temper came back and rejoined queasiness. "Look, Mom, the Ganshari spices upset my stomach."

"They use spices?" Diverted for a moment, Rodney tried to think if he'd tasted any.

John shrugged. "Well, whatever they use. Nobody else seems to be having any problem, so maybe it's just my gut."

"You know, it could be an allergy." John just looked at him blankly. "Your stomach problems. Or it could be the incense. You know, someone has to think clearly, Major, and you don't seem to be."

That vertical line again. "Rodney, are you sure that you're all right? You're acting a little....odd. I'm fine, it's just…indigestion or something."

Worse and worse. "Well, forgive me for being concerned about your health," he snapped. "Now that I know you've got it all in hand, I'll leave you alone."

"My health?" John's eyebrows climbed again. "Or is it my virtue you're worrying about? I promise, I'm not trying to negotiate for a damn thing, I'm not trying to practice diplomacy without a license."

John's virtue. Good lord, he hadn't even thought about that possibility. "John, you haven't agreed to anything, have you?" He was sure there were comely and virile Gansha men, and surely Teyla wouldn't have allowed…except, Teyla wasn't here. "Where's Teyla?"

John closed his eyes. "I'm sure I already told you that I hadn't agreed to anything. And I think Teyla's visiting some people she knows, that's all."

"No, you said you weren't trying to negotiate, which doesn't mean you haven't agreed to anything." He wasn't sure what the hell he was doing, but there were purplish crescents beneath John's eyes, too. Why the hell hadn't he seen any of this before now? What the hell was wrong with him? "And hasn't she been with you at all when you're in there?"

"She's been here most of the time, Rodney, I don't speak the language!" John's temper was rising again, obviously.

That bruised look under his eyes, dear God, he really hadn't been paying attention. Something occurred to him. "You haven't been sleeping well."

That got an almost insultingly surprised look. "Well, no, I haven't--"

"Don't think I haven't noticed." Although, of course, he hadn't. Panic slithered around in his gut. The man standing in front of him was a very sick man, he was sure of it.

"You snore," John told him irritably and rubbed his forehead.

He was reasonably certain he didn't snore, since he didn't sleep on his back, and said so as firmly as his panic allowed, which wasn't as firmly as he would have liked.

"You do," John insisted. "And will you quit worrying? I'm not going to cause an interplanetary incident, I'm just asking questions and listening like the pilgrims do. Only mine are pretty simple, since I'm obviously not a pilgrim and I'm still pretty much at the Dick and Jane stage of the language."

John was learning to speak Gansha. That struck him as vaguely ominous, and worse, John was aware of the types of questions Ganshari pilgrims asked. His own paranoia was flaring to life. "You need to get something to eat, John, your blood sugar has to be rock bottom."

"I'm not you, Rodney, I don't have hypoglycemic reactions." John's patience was clearly coming to an end. "And I don't live to eat, either. I'm fine."

He ignored this. "I know someone has to have some MREs left; Neil likes Ganshari dishes, check with him."

John's mouth flattened into a thin line. "Is that it? Is that why you dragged me out of there, to give me dietary tips?"

This was going nowhere. "Dietary tips? Excuse me, but I'm supposed to be aware of the condition of my team members, Major, since I haven't seen you in days, I needed to know."

Impatient look. "Rodney, go back to work, I'm fine."

Nowhere. And his stomach felt like a clenched fist. He was going to talk to Ford immediately, and then to Elizabeth. They needed Carson here, and he was beginning to think they needed him badly. "Fine."

"Fine." John went back to the chamber entrance. "I'll see you tonight."

"Right." Rodney watched him go back in, then headed out to find Ford.

 

"Is he sick?" Elizabeth asked over the com link.

"He looks sick," Ford said, "And Dr. McKay's worried, too. It's not just me, ma'am."

"I am," Rodney agreed, "I'm very concerned, Elizabeth. He looks terrible, and isn't behaving at all like himself. Can you send Carson through?"

There was a silence. "No, I don't think so. Pack it up, Rodney, I want you all back here as soon as possible."

He sighed, but it was only good sense. "Understood."

"I'll inform Major Sheppard," Ford said, and gave him a sidelong glance.

"And I'll deal with my people. It may be an hour or so, Elizabeth, we've got a lot to pack up."

"Understood," she told him. "I'll have Carson on standby."

It wasn't fun breaking it to his team members, but a few of them, like Zelenka and Simpson, had gotten a good look at John and swiftly put an end to discussion.

That helped, but he still had his own gear and all his samples and results to organize. John, he left to Ford, but John had his own timetable, evidently, and returned to the room they shared before Ford had found him. Unfortunately, he arrived as Rodney, having accomplished his own packing, had started on John's.

"What's going on?" he asked, yanking his long underwear out of Rodney's hands and stuffing them into the pack. "We're leaving?"

"Yes, we're done." Rodney handed him a shirt that had fallen out of the pack. "Elizabeth wants us back."

"Elizabeth? She contacted us? Is there a problem?" John looked lost. "I had my radio with me."

Rodney flushed. "Everything is fine. But apparently she needs some input from us on some other issue. You know, the same property that amplifies the ZPM power might block the radio transmissions."

"Somebody should have gotten me," John groused and took his pack away from Rodney. "I'm supposed to be nominally in charge, Elizabeth's probably irritated she couldn't reach me."

"Ford talked to her." Rodney folded his arms and watched John finish stuffing his pack full.

John looked up to catch him watching. "What?"

"What?"

"What?" Ford's voice was a relief; John turned toward the doorway.

"Nothing," John told him, then, "Dr. Weir spoke with you?"

"Yeah, she didn't want to disturb your discussion with the Shanri." Ford cleared his throat. "I, uh, made our farewells to the Shanri, but apparently she already knew."

"She's like that," John agreed. "Maybe it's the damn minerals."

Rodney looked taken aback at first, and then thoughtful. "I wonder."

"Let's go, Dr. McKay." Ford held out a hand for the extra bag Rodney was carrying. "I'll take that, if you'd like."

Naturally, Rodney liked and gave it to him. "I'm looking forward to a real bed."

"Yeah," John agreed, "Although I gotta admit, I'll miss the hot springs stuff."

Rodney and Ford both frowned at him. "What?"

"Nothing," Ford said hastily.

"Hot springs," Rodney said thoughtfully, "I wonder."

"Wonder what?" John put his arm through the straps of his pack.

Rodney shook his head. "Nothing."

John rolled his eyes. "Okay, fine, let's go. Ford, I want you to tell me what Dr. Weir said."

Ford, naturally, did, and seemed happy to do so, but there was no emergency, no dire urgency, no news, and thankfully, no hostilities from anywhere.

By the time they stepped through the gate, John was subdued and a little irritable at having been summoned back so suddenly.

Rodney suspected that it didn't help to find Elizabeth and Beckett in the gateroom, both of them regarding him somberly when he stepped through.

"Welcome home," she told them.

"Elizabeth," Rodney said in greeting and looked at John.

John, belatedly, seemed to notice he was being noticed. "Hi," he said. "Home again, I guess."

"John," Elizabeth took a step forward, her eyes wide with shock. "My god, you look terrible, what have you been doing to yourself?"

John's jaw dropped and he glanced at Rodney as if seeking backup. "I'm fine, I haven't been doing anything." He turned to glare accusingly at Ford. "What did you tell her?"

"Me?" Ford all but squeaked. "I didn't tell her anything but that you were with the Shanri."

"No, he didn't, because if he did, I'd have had you back here sooner. John, I want you to go to the infirmary with Carson." Elizabeth's tone was cold. "Rodney, you were co-leader on this mission, I can't believe you missed this."

The unfairness of it left him speechless.

"Has everybody lost their mind?" John's voice was too loud. "I'm *fine*. I'm a little tired. Period. Full stop."

"John, you look terrible." Elizabeth's expression softened. "You've lost weight, you're white as a sheet--"

"I'm fine!" he roared and squirmed visibly in the shocked silence that followed. "Okay, well, maybe I'm more than just a little tired, I'm a lot tired, but I'm fine."

"Infirmary," Elizabeth told him and her tone was flinty. "Now."

After a moment, John's jaw clenched and he nodded and glanced at Rodney, as if hoping for help. "Okay," he said, raised his hands to show how harmless he was. "I'm going. Ford, do me a favor and drop my pack off in my quarters."

"Yessir," Ford said and took it.

The gateroom stayed quiet until he was gone. "Rodney, my office," Elizabeth said and started back up the stairs.

Rodney sighed and followed.

They were barely in the door when she whirled on him, furious. "What the *hell* were you thinking? I told you to get whatever was going on cleared up between you!"

"Elizabeth, there *isn't* anything going on to be cleared up." Other than guilt, and it choked him. He should have seen, dammit, he should have. "And I've been busy and he's been spending way too much time with the Shanri. I'm not sure I altogether trust that woman."

"Now you tell me?" Her voice rose again.

"I didn't have a reason to even think about it before now. I had Ford contact you because I got a good look at him today."

"Weren't any of you looking before today?" She was as scared as he was, Rodney realized. They'd all come to rely a lot on John, or at least trust him. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"Thank you, Elizabeth, for merely emphasizing my guilt," he snapped, "You don't think I'm asking myself the same thing? He shared a room with me! I should have seen this."

"Whoa," Ford's voice. "Dr. McKay, he just looked tired before today. Today he really looks like hell."

Rodney whirled to see him at the door of Elizabeth's office. "You asked him that first night if he was all right," he snarled, "Don't tell me you didn't see it."

"He just looked tired. He said he was tired." Ford looked at Weir. "Dr. Weir, I'm just as guilty as Dr. McKay, I saw him a lot of the day every day we were there. I just thought he was tired, and he said the food disagreed with him."

Elizabeth visibly gathered her composure. "All right, all right. There's nothing to be accomplished by shouting at each other. We're all worried. Rodney, I'm sorry, I was just shocked." She cupped her own face between her hands. "How in heaven's name can he possibly think he's fine?"

There wasn't anything Rodney could think of to answer that. They stood, just looking at each other, for a long moment.

"I'm going to the infirmary," Ford said, bravest of all of them. "I'll let you know what Dr. Beckett says."


	4. Chapter 4

By the time Rodney ventured to the infirmary, John was alone, lying in one of the beds in his clothes with what were doubtless warmed blankets laid over him.

The bed linen only emphasized the pallor Rodney had missed and it made him sick to see it. He was about to leave without saying anything when John saw him.

"Hi." Thin, uninflected voice. "I understand from Ford I have you to thank for this."

"Me?" Rodney raised his eyebrows. "Not me."

John gave him an uninformative look. "Ford told me."

Rodney considered that, sighed. "I was merely exercising legitimate concern over our top-ranking military officer."

John's eyebrows drew together. "Well, I'd thank you, but I'm seriously pissed off. If you thought I was unfit for duty, you should have said something to me directly."

Ouch. "I considered it, but frankly, Major, I wasn't at all certain you weren't under alien influence of some kind." Rodney folded his arms. "I've gotten increasingly uncomfortable with the fact that the Shanri seems to have some not so benign effect on you."

John glared at him. "Are you nuts?"

Rodney glanced around, checking for bystanders. "May I remind you of our original negotiation with her?"

He hadn't thought it was possible for John to get paler.

"That's a low blow," John snapped and pushed himself upright. "I apologized for that."

Wrong tack, maybe, but he was in for it now, and he might as well forge ahead. "That's not the point, the point is that you've been behaving oddly since you met her, and now you're ill. Can you honestly tell me that under normal circumstances you wouldn't have gotten up and walked out of that first discussion?"

John's temper snapped. "I'm not sick, goddammit!"

If anything, that was even more worrying. Not that he hadn't seen John angry, but yelling and cursing were manifestations he hadn't yet had reason to associate with John's anger. "Where the hell is Carson?"

John threw the blankets off and got up, albeit shakily. "He's off testing the several pints of blood he took. If you see him, tell him I went to my quarters."

He started to put out a hand to stop him, thought better of it at John's glare. "John, I don't think that's a good idea. Listen to yourself, is this rational behavior?"

John started for the door, then turned on Rodney, pointed one finger. "Don't you start with me. I made a mistake that first time, I was thinking about how badly we needed those ZPMs and the hell if I'm going to apologize for putting our survival first. And as for this--I'm not sick, I'm just worn out, and I'm going to my own bed to see if I can get some sleep without you snoring." And before Rodney could come back with an answer, he was gone.

 

It seemed prudent to avoid John until John felt less besieged, and Carson, of course, wasn't prone to violating confidentiality, although he did say he believed John was probably sicker than he thought. That was all, though, so Rodney didn't spend a lot of time driving himself crazy over the next few days.

At least until Elizabeth indicated that she needed to talk to him. He went to her office and it felt as if he were going to hear bad news.

He was, he supposed, when he saw her expression, and she wasn't even looking at him, she was reading something.

"Rodney, come in." She looked up. "Sorry I couldn't come down to the lab. I wanted to let you know, John's off the duty roster, if there's a need for your team to go out, Lt. Ford will be temporarily in charge."

Rodney's stomach knotted. God, God, he should have seen it. "He really is sick, isn't he?" Flatly.

She sighed and rubbed her forehead. "Something's wrong. Carson isn't certain what it is, yet. He's sent some of the biology team back to Gansha to collect samples of everything. John and a few of the others, including Ford, have this mysterious chemical compound in their blood, but John is the only one sick. The compound appears to be organic, but Carson says in some ways it's behaving like heavy metal toxicity. And of course, John's insisting he doesn't feel that badly, he refuses to stay in the infirmary."

"He's not a complete fool, if he felt that ill, he'd stay. I think." Rodney considered. "I wonder if there's anything any of my people can do to help."

She smiled wanly. "It's a medical problem. Didn't you say medicine was like voodoo?"

"That's mostly because it involves people." Rodney shrugged. "Chemical compounds, we're talking science there."

Her expression became faintly hopeful. "It couldn't hurt to talk to Carson."

He nodded. "I'll do that. Ah, you don't know where John is now, do you?"

She sighed. "He's pretty upset right now, Rodney. We had an argument about whether or not he should be in the infirmary. His temper is pretty short."

"That's just this…whatever it is. He bit my head off the other night, too. He'll cool down." It was hard to believe that he was giving someone else interpersonal advice. He hoped it was good advice. "I'll talk with you later, if we come up with anything."

She nodded, and he left, went to the infirmary, where he and Beckett conferred over what the hell it was showing up in the blood tests, to little avail. After every test they could think of, they were still brainstorming when the biology team arrived back from Gansha with samples. He left while Drake was still bubbling over about natural remedies, pausing only when Carson yelled, "Send Major Sheppard back here if you see him."

As if that would happen.

But Rodney was just around the corner from his quarters when he saw John sitting outside on the edge of the balcony. The man had no common sense whatsoever; damp, foggy chill, weather that really called for a coat or a sweater; John wore neither, only a t-shirt over his uniform trousers, and his legs were dangling out over the sea as if he were thinking of jumping. The slump of his shoulders made Rodney's throat ache a little, and instead of doing the smart thing and summoning Carson, he went outside himself, leaned on the rail next to John.

At the sound of his footsteps, John's shoulders had straightened; he looked up at Rodney warily, decided it was safe and looked back out at the horizon.   
His feet, Rodney noted, were bare, and this was lunatic behavior. Even with a sweater, he could feel the damp chill. "Dr. Beckett is looking for you, Major."

John didn't look at him. "He just wants to poke more holes in me. It'll wait."

Rodney sighed inwardly. "Aren't you cold?"

"Yeah, but it--" A shrug. "It helps with the, uh, parathesia or whatever the hell it's called."

He winced. "Tingling or burning?"

"Tingling in my hands, burning in my feet." John looked up at him again. "It's maddening, like an itch you can't scratch."

He didn't want to try and imagine it. His imagination was entirely too vivid anyway. He studied John's face, sat down beside him on the other side of the baluster. His own ineptitude in personal matters was pretty maddening, too, but even if he could come up with anything reassuring or inspiring to say, he wasn't sure John would want to hear it from him. Sitting in silence seemed the wisest option.

"I owe you an apology," John said suddenly.

Startled, he looked at John. "For what?"

John kept staring at the horizon. "I figured some things out," he finally said, and flushed. It was the first healthy color Rodney had seen in his face in days and he watched, fascinated, as the color surged. "That whole little misunderstanding thing with the Shanri when we asked to trade for the ZPMs. If it had been anyone else with me, I, uh, don't think my mind would have gone there, I think I'd have just said not only no, but hell no." The flush grew darker. "I think maybe my mind *did* go there because it was something I, ah, maybe wanted, but hadn't let myself think about. I embarrassed myself and offended you and I'm, um, I apologize."  
   
Stunned speechless, Rodney looked out at the horizon, too. "Oh," he said, more to keep John from freaking out before he had a chance to process what John had said than anything else. Something John wanted, he thought, something John had wanted, and not just wanted in general, because otherwise his mind wouldn't have gone there, but wanted specifically with Rodney. Major John Football Hero Sheppard, Major John Career Military Sheppard, bearer of the ATA gene and the man with the trademark charm—and he knew that wasn't fair, there was more to John than that, but John didn't let anybody see it, so that was more like the certainty that there was another planet out there perturbing the orbit of the one already known than a concrete certainty. John had apologized, he told himself again, because John had wanted, and that was both exhilarating and sad, and he needed to say something soon before John really did freak out.   
   
It took another moment to gather his wits enough to respond without inappropriate sarcasm or an out and out proposition. "I was more tempted than offended," he finally admitted. "And frankly, I was a little angry at being put in that position. Of being tempted, I mean. Because I was, I wanted to agree with your interpretation and take advantage of the moment even though I knew she was playing some game." He glanced sidelong and wondered if John could even get any redder without imploding. "Besides which, you apologized once already."

"Oh." Faint voice, relieved tone. "Okay. Good."

Something else occurred to him and tweaked his temper. "And stop putting all your worldly affairs in order, Major, you aren't going to die."

Pitying look. "Rodney."

"John," he countered. It seemed ridiculous, when John had just confessed to harboring deeply buried desire for him, to call him Major. And besides, it would get his attention.

Patient look. "I don't *want* to die, and I don't *plan* on dying, but you know as well as I do that Carson can't even quite figure out how to deal with this. He says it's not heavy metal poisoning, but it acts like it, and if it is, he's got no idea what to use in a totally non-Terran galaxy or if the usual agents will work or if it's a toxin and there's an antidote--"

"John," he said warningly. "You've got some of the best minds from Earth here, and if you think we're going to let anyone die from an overdose of toxic herbal tea, you're mistaken."

John scowled at him. "I don't want to leave a lot of stuff unsaid, dammit."

"Get over it," he snapped, "And if you're going to go gentle unto that good night, I'll spare all of us the work and just shove you off the balcony now."

John stared at him, and burst into laughter, leaning back against the baluster behind him. "You *asshole*."

He smirked. "And you're surprised by this? At least you sound a little more rational now."

John kept laughing, little riffs that finally died down. "Thanks, I think. Now if I were a physics or engineering problem, I'd feel perfectly confident."

That pissed him off all over again. "I'm glad to see how much faith you have in us. Dammit, you didn't give up when that Wraith thing had you and we were stuck in the damn wormhole, don't you dare give up now."

John's grin faded. "I'm not."

"Good." He said it fiercely. "Because I was serious about shoving you off the balcony. In fact, I'm tempted to do it anyway."

John grinned again, not the trademark cocky grin, but something lop-sided and almost shy. "I believe you."

He couldn't decide if that was flattering or annoying; instead of trying, he got up and held a hand out. "Come on, you're turning blue, and Carson's going to have a stroke if you don't show up."

John snorted, but took the offered hand, grasping it with shockingly icy fingers.

"How long have you been out here?" Rodney demanded, alarmed.

John shrugged. "I dunno, a while, I guess."

He didn't let go of John's hand, shoved him toward the glass wall, which obligingly opened for them, then slid shut once they were through. "You're hypothermic and certifiable," he snapped. "Ford will shoot me for this even if Elizabeth doesn't order him to. And my next infirmary visit is going to be a nightmare."

John started to laugh again. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Elizabeth already blames me for not noticing that you were ill," he said patiently.

John's laughter died. "That's nuts. I'm not six, I don't need a goddamn nanny, I should have realized I was compromised myself."

He gritted his teeth. "And Elizabeth isn't the only one, I blame myself, too. We were sharing a room, for God's sake."

John's expression changed subtly. "Rodney, don't." Then, in a rush, there in a public corridor, John kissed him. Clumsily, and their noses bumped, but John kissed him, an off-target brush of dry, chapped lips against his.

He took in a breath, saw John's mortified expression and shifted gears long enough to realize that they were *both* certifiable before he shoved John up against the wall and licked his way into an entirely satisfying, greedy as hell kiss, public corridor or not. It was made all the more satisfying by John's uninhibited response once that first instant of startlement was past. John, it was clear, had been thinking about this a lot, if his hands on Rodney's ass and tongue down Rodney's throat meant anything.

Not that he was complaining in the least. When he finally broke away, they were both breathing way too hard and John made a sound like complaint before resting his forehead on Rodney's. "Are you sure Beckett's looking for me?" Plaintive tone.

He looked down at a pleasing bulge in John's pants. "Well, not urgently." He put his palm over the bulge and squeezed gently.

John hitched in a breath. "I mean, how sick can I be if I can get it up, right?"

"There is that," he agreed, still a little short of breath. "My quarters are--"

"Good," John said and straightened, took hold of his hand to tug him there.

It was pretty funny and very surreal and completely unexpected, but he wasn't going to toss away a gift Major when he was given one. So he pinched John's ass and took the lead, dragging them both inside his door and setting the privacy lock before John had *him* backed against the wall and he let him.

Or he let him until those icy fingers hit his skin, and then he gripped John's wrists and pushed him backward toward the bed. "Ow, ow, don't touch me with those hands."

John's dismayed look was comical. "You're hypothermic," he accused and kept pushing until the bed hit the back of John's legs. "You need warming up."

The dismay vanished immediately. "I'm up for that," John agreed happily and tugged him down.

A lot of wrestling around and laughing ensued that left both of them naked and ended up with him flat on his back with John's mouth on his belly.

"John," he gasped, "Listen, have you ever done this—"

"Shut up, Rodney." John gave him a smoldering look.

He tried again. "What do you want?"

"Everything." Husky voice and John moved down, licked his cock. "I want everything."

He gasped again when John's mouth closed over him, astonishment as much as pleasure, and then there was only pleasure, nearly too much after too long without any, and he had to pull John away before he completely lost control. "Get up here," he groaned and John muttered some kind of complaint that he stopped with his own tongue.

He could taste himself, slid a hand down John's belly to close his fingers around John's cock and stroke upward. John groaned into his mouth, wrapped both arms around him and they rolled over on the bed so he was lying on top, his erection pressing hard against John's thigh.

"Fuck me," John said into his mouth. "Now. I want you to."

That shorted out his capacity for coherent speech, but not his ability to think. "I don't think that's a good idea," he said, trying not to imagine what it would feel like. "Just let me—"

"I want you to," John breathed and squirmed under him. "Jesus, Rodney, I've been thinking about this for months."

Months? Months? He nearly groaned. "Well, sorry, I didn't think to bring lube to the Pegasus galaxy," Rodney muttered and nipped John's throat, stroked upward again. "I think you'll just have to wait—"

"Lotion, you've got hand lotion or something, don't you?" John arched his hips up. "Come on, you must, I know you."

Well, hell, he wasn't a saint. "Hand lotion," he agreed and slid down to suck on John's nipple. John's chest hair was oddly silky, a faint line of it leading down from his navel

"Oh, God." John's fingers dug into his shoulders. "That's, fuck, that's good, that feels so good. Will you please find the fucking lotion?"

"You're a pushy bastard," Rodney nipped him for payback, swiveled to lean down and rummage through the duffel bag next to his bed. He still wasn't sure this was a good idea, but John obviously was, and who was he to say no?

While he was rummaging, John rubbed up against him, which was entirely distracting and made it hard to focus on anything but kissing John or fondling John, or anything but John.

"Come on, come on," John kept telling him between kisses, until he finally pulled away, and just found the goddamn lotion, rolled John onto his back again and knelt between his legs.

"This isn't the ideal lubricant, John," he panted, and squeezed some out onto his shaking fingers. "You know, this is probably going to hurt a bit."

"I'm all grown up, I'll live." John's breathing was harsh. "Just, please, okay? Please?"

"I've got it, I've got it," Rodney told him and let the lotion warm. "Slow down a little, will you?"

John hooked one leg around him and smoldered, and okay, maybe slowing down a lot wasn't in the cards, but he still stroked the lotion in carefully, heart hammering so hard he was afraid he was hyperventilating. He could see when he hit the right spot, John's face changed completely, pleasure and effort and surprise all at once. "Okay?" he asked, "Okay, John?"

"If you stop, I swear, Rodney, I'll shoot you," John gasped, "I have a P-90, remember that."

"I'll say." Rodney leaned in and kissed the base of John's cock. He stroked more lotion in, stroked lotion over himself and he had to grip himself hard at the base for fear he was going to come just thinking about it. "John, it might be easier if you were on your side—"

"Oh, fuck that, Rodney, just do it, I wanna see your face." John put one foot flat on the bed, knee raised and smoldered at him.

He was so hard he ached and John was so damn delicious looking, stretched out on his bed. "Easy, dammit, just, we need to go slow, John." He took John's other leg, hooked it over his shoulder, guided himself against slick flesh and pressed inward until he was held and gripped almost too tightly. He was panting as if he'd run a race by that time, and John had one arm over his eyes. "John, breathe."

"I'm good." Hoarsely.

He pressed in, leaned down to kiss John's belly and used one hand to stroke lotion over John's cock, softening now, but still half-hard. "John, talk to me." He was pretty hoarse himself.

"Don't stop." Not quite a whisper. "Oh, Jesus, that's intense."

And then he was all the way in, and John moved, arched. He had to lean over John, trying to catch his breath, and John wouldn't hold still, and John was right, it was intense. Sweet, and hot and intense, and John was hard again against his fingers; he stroked with his hand and pulled his hips back, pushed forward, and John groaned, raised his arm from his eyes and reached down to grip Rodney's wrist, guiding it. John's eyes were on him, pupils dilating again, and he leaned forward, licked into John's mouth, sucked on his lower lip and they were moving in rhythm at last.

The part of his brain that never truly shut down was watching incredulously and asking him what the hell he was doing, and telling him it would all end as badly as he expected, but he ignored it in favor of the taste and scent and sound and sensation of John's body under his.

John was, by far, the noisiest lover he'd ever had: whimpers, groans and a steady whispered petitioning of God told him he was doing things right, and when John came before he did, he followed with a roar of pleasure that was almost victorious.

Apparently, the usual post-coital awkwardness didn't apply. John didn't immediately get up and leave, and he didn't feel any need to encourage it. They lay together, catching their breath, and after a moment, he got up and went to the bathroom to clean up. He brought a wet towel back and found John was dozing, lying on his back with that arm over his eyes again. Dozing was good, he thought, given the insomnia, but John stirred when he came out, gave him a sweet, drowsy smile.

He felt short of breath suddenly, but it was just a touch of panic. That smile made him feel willing to do damned near anything to get that smile again, and that was certifiable. He'd been here before, too many times in his life, and it had never ended well for him. "Hey," he said foolishly and sat down on the bed. "Are you all right?"

"I'm good." John took in a deep breath. "Just, you know, a little sore." He took the towel, wiped himself clean. "It's okay, I'm good, you worry too much."

"I'm not worried," he lied.

"Then why do you have those little lines between your eyebrows," John asked, and one corner of his mouth lifted.

It took a moment to realize that John was teasing him and he relaxed. "I was actually thinking about this problem I've been working on with routing the power to some of the unused areas of the city."

John grinned, but it wasn't the usual trademark Sheppard grin; it was that same lop-sided, almost diffident smile. "Liar."

The smugness was downright endearing, too. He was so fucked. "John—" he began, meaning to say something distancing, something comfortable, something that might ease them back to arm's length.

John put a hand over his. "Thanks." That sweet smile again.

Jarred, he blinked. "Thanks for what?"

"For this." John licked his lips. He watched the tip of John's tongue, completely perplexed. "For treating me like I'm still alive. For letting me be alive."

He felt like he was flushed from head to toe. John was even more delicious, all flushed and sweaty and post-coital. "Jesus, John—"

John's fingers curled around his wrist. "It's okay, I want you, I wanted this, but you didn't have to give it to me." Sudden frown. "It's not just because you think I am going to die, is it?"

"Are you completely insane?" He felt more normal suddenly. "Do you think I generally do pity fucks or deathbed requests?"

The frown eased and John's expression was sheepish. "Sorry, I think all this is making me a little paranoid."

"Go back to sleep," Rodney said and climbed back into bed with him. "You could use the rest. I have plans for you later."

"Later?" John grinned and pumped one fist in the air. "Touchdown!"

"I loathe football," Rodney informed him with dignity. "Now move over."

For once, John obeyed without saying a word.


	5. Chapter 5

Rodney woke first, which wasn't all the surprising. He wasn't used to having someone in his bed. And, of course, he was hungry, it was late in Atlantis' afternoon, and he was spooned behind John, all that warm skin an invitation to more carnal behavior. He resisted that and peeled himself away, careful not to wake John: into the bathroom to splash water on his face and comb his hair and regard the fool in the mirror who still wore a smug look, even without the smile and a line in his face from the bed linen. Back to the bed to figure out where his clothes were, to separate them from John's, and they weren't too badly wrinkled, so he put his pants on. John slept on, undisturbed, which he supposed was natural enough, given the combination of prevailing insomnia and good sex.

John drooled when he slept, it appeared. It was disconcerting to find that rather endearing, but really, he found even John's clumsy enthusiasm endearing, so it wasn't surprising that his mental processes had deteriorated to the point that he found bad bedhead and drooling equally so.

He rather hoped that John's enthusiasm would persist when he tried to sit down later, and he supposed that spoke of a certain smugness on his part. He sat down on the edge of the bed and rubbed John's back through the blankets until John's eyelids fluttered. "Come on, John, wake up."

"Do I have to?" Blurry with sleep, John squinted at him. "I'm comfortable."

Even the whine was oddly endearing. Rodney laughed softly. "Carson's probably still looking for you. Eventually, he's going to catch up with you. Do you want him to catch up with you here?"

John blinked at him, sighed, and shifted to put his head on Rodney's knee. "Fuck it, we're a gazillion light years from the Air Force and don't ask, don't tell. I just wanna go back to sleep right now."

Given the insomnia, Rodney thought it wasn't a bad idea. "Suit yourself, it's not my career," he said mildly and put his fingers in soft, ridiculously fluffy hair, carded it.

"Cool." John closed his eyes again, put an arm around Rodney's waist, and put his face against Rodney's shirt.

"I didn't mean you could sleep on me," Rodney told him, a little exasperated.

"You're waking me up." John muttered and nuzzled Rodney's stomach.

He felt a treacherous fondness. "If you keep doing that, I'm going to do more than wake you up."

John lifted his head to smirk at him. "Yeah?"

"Carson's diagnostic skills must be going down the toilet." Rodney carded John's hair again. "Nobody as sick as he thinks you are should be this interested in sex."

"Exactly my point," John's expression was guileless. "My hands are warm now."

"That's good. Hypothermia is very dangerous," Rodney said blandly.

"You could come back to bed and let me touch you all over," John suggested with an expression he probably hoped was winning.

It was, but somehow Rodney wasn't sure it was winning in quite the way John hoped; it was goofy and god help him, endearing. "You touched me already," he pointed out, just for the sake of accuracy. "Pretty much all over."

"But you kept complaining about how cold my fingers were. They aren't now." John held up his hand and wriggled them. "Wanna see? Or feel, even?"

It was hard to keep a straight face. "That cute and dumb thing is working for you again, isn't it?"

John's eyebrows rose. "You tell me."

He pretended to consider, pushed John off his lap, and stretched out beside him. "I'd have to say yes, but it may require more investigation, proper systematic experimental approach and all that."

"I'm in favor of proper systematic approach." John's smirk wasn't annoying; it was amusing, inviting Rodney to share the joke. "You've got way too many clothes on."

"Do something about it," Rodney challenged. "Aren't you the specially trained torture resistant military type."?

John's grin was delighted. "You listened to me!"

"I always listen to you. I just generally ignore you." Despite the words, he kissed John's mouth gently.

"No, you don't," John said smugly.

Rodney reached under the blankets and derailed this line of conversation quite successfully which resulted in John falling asleep again. Sweet and simple, nothing complicated, but John touched to his apparent content, and Rodney had nothing to complain of either.

In short, he was feeling ridiculously pleased with both himself and John when he went down to the mess hall.

Unfortunately, while he was waiting in line for the latest offering of some sort of legume soup, rice and some Athosian style flatbread, Elizabeth caught up with him. "Rodney, have you seen John?"

He debated it internally for a moment, and went with the truth. "He's taking a nap."

Elizabeth blinked, arched one eyebrow. "He's not in his quarters, we checked."

Diverted, he looked away from the soup. "How did you get past the privacy lock?"

She blushed. "I had Carson do it. No one had seen John all day, and Carson's worries infected mine."

"Oh." That was interesting to know. "He's in my quarters."

Elizabeth opened her mouth, closed it, and then spoke carefully. "Your quarters?"

He kept his expression bland. "We were talking. He fell asleep. Given the insomnia problems, I didn't think waking him up was a good idea."

"Oh." Elizabeth nodded thoughtfully. "No, I think you were right." She looked at Rodney's tray. "Maybe you could get him to eat something."

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, Elizabeth, that's why there are two bowls of soup on my tray."

Her mouth twitched. "Well, I wasn't sure."

"My blood sugar doesn't get that low. When he wakes up, I'll tell him Carson was looking for him," he told her. "It's not urgent, is it? He hasn't suddenly discovered the cure for this...whatever it is."

"No, but it turns out that there's a very small percentage of the Ganshari population that can't tolerate k'ria tea, and the healers there have an herbal remedy to flush it out of their systems. There are differences, Carson says, in how they metabolize the k'ria, they don't show any signs of the same substance in their blood, so he's not sure it will work on John, but it's a starting point. He's going to test it on the mice. At any rate, I'll let Carson know John's not lying unconscious anywhere." She nodded at him and left the dining hall.

He nodded back absently, his mind already on the so-called herbal remedy.

 

When he returned, John was just stirring toward wakefulness, but pretending not to be, so he sat down on the edge of the bed, set the tray carefully on the floor, and waited for a minute. All John did was roll closer, still going for the sleep pretense. He couldn't help smiling at that. "I know you're awake, you lunatic, so if you're planning an ambush, let me point out that I have two bowls of hot soup with me."

John opened his eyes, smiling that goofy, winning smile again. "Ambush? Would I do that?"

"I'm sure you would," Rodney told him and patted the curve of John's ass through the blankets. "Think you could eat something?"

John considered it. "I'd rather not take the chance. My stomach feels pretty much okay right now."

"Your blood sugar really has to be rock bottom," Rodney marveled, picked up a bowl, and took a bite. Not bad, a little bland, but thick and satisfying. "It's really pretty good."

John shifted around in bed and leaned up on one elbow. "It smells good," he said wistfully. "But a lot of things lately have smelled good and tasted pretty crappy and I hate throwing up."

"Whereas everyone else, of course, loves to vomit." Rodney took another bite.

John ignored this and leaned up to peer at the contents of the bowl. "It doesn't look too bad."

Rodney took another bite, dipped a piece of flatbread in it, and took a bite of that.

John's stomach growled loudly.

Rodney looked at him, raised one eyebrow in inquiry.

"Can I have a taste?" John asked, surrendering.

Rodney narrowed his eyes. "I suppose given the fact that we've already exchanged body fluids, it would be silly to complain about sharing a spoon."

"Probably." John leaned up on one elbow, started to reach for the spoon, and opened his mouth instead when Rodney filled it and held it out.

John's expression would have been comical except for the fact that he hadn't been eating lately. Caution, growing relief, and he swallowed. "That is good. What is it?"

Rodney smiled, fairly relieved himself. "Some kind of bean from the Meneri, turned into soup."

John's expression darkened and he shifted. "Bastards."

He wasn't going to think about that now, but John's fingers brushed his sleeve, and it was odd, he remembered John's fury over the cuts more than he remembered that actual pain of getting them. He held up the spoon. "More?"

John swallowed again. "I better wait a little while." Apologetically.

Rodney nodded. "You know, even if it doesn't all stay down, you still need to try. Anything that stays down is going to help."

Dark look. "Easy for you to say," John muttered and rolled over on his side, facing away.

He felt a pang. Hadn't he always hated that, when people told him what was best for him and he was sick or hurting or miserable? He put the spoon down, put his hand on John's back, and rubbed in circles for a few moments, felt the tension ebb away. "John, not eating is just going to make the toxin's effects stronger." It was the mildest thing he could think of.

John sighed. "Yeah, I suppose." He let Rodney rub his back for another minute without complaint or protest. "You're right." He sat up suddenly, raked a hand through his hair.

Victory, sort of. Rodney put his bowl on the table near the bed and lifted the tray to John's lap. "Eat."

"Did you plan this?" Narrow look.

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, I lured you to my room for hot sex in the hope that you'd end up eating a bowl of soup. Carson put me up to it."

John rolled his eyes.

Rodney bit back a grin and picked up his bowl of soup and dipped more bread in it, watched as John took another cautious bite.

Damn, he'd nearly forgotten Elizabeth's news. "By the way, Carson's team came back from Gansha with something." John looked at him and took a third bite of soup. That, he thought, was rather a good sign. "Evidently, there are Ganshari who have a similar reaction to the tea. Not the same kind, and the mystery chemical doesn't show up in their blood, but it's similar. The Ganshari healers have a remedy for it, and Carson's going to test it on the mice."

John grimaced. "Poor little bastards." He took a piece of the flatbread, took a small bite, and grimaced before spitting the bite out into his palm.

Rodney arched an eyebrow. "No?"

Sheepish look. "No." But another bite of the soup went down. "This is good, though."

Hmmm, Rodney thought. One of Carson's people would be able to figure out what the difference in chemical makeup was and maybe they'd have an answer to what was causing the taste problem. "And," he said aloud, "I had an idea I wanted to discuss with Carson. It was just a thought, but the problem appears to be that your body stored this mystery compound and is now releasing it into your bloodstream, which is toxic as hell to your kidneys and liver."

John swallowed another bite of soup, grimaced. "Rodney, I'm eating, please don't screw with success here."

Oops. "Oh, sorry, I'll tell you later." Or not. John was looking pretty damn good for a man supposedly on death's door, even if he was still a little pale.

There might be other things besides talking taking place.

John gave him that smile again. "Thanks."

They ate in companionable near silence. John started to smolder at him about two thirds of the way through the soup, which threatened to make his brain lock, and it didn't help that he was well aware that John was naked under the blankets.

When the smoldering alone didn't work, John started touching him. "You're a wild man, Rodney," John said, bumping his foot against Rodney's ass.

Bemused, he looked at John's mouth. Wild? Him? "Not me. I only go for a sure thing. Kiss me in a public place, I'll take advantage before you change your mind."

John grinned. "If I'd known that would do it, I wouldn't have waited so long."

There was a certain smug pleasure in hearing that. "I think you need a little practice, that wasn't your smoothest move."

John blushed, laughing. "I was sort of hoping you had forgotten that part."

"It was very charming in an inept sort of way," he said generously. "But up against the wall was much better."

"Oh, yeah." John's gaze went unfocused.

He grinned. Definitely, what he felt was smug pleasure. "Eat."

John rolled his eyes, but did. Maybe it was the soup, maybe it was the sex, maybe it was both on top of being ill, but his eyelids got heavier as the bowl got emptier until Rodney rescued the bedding by simply removing the spoon from John's hand and the tray from his lap. "Damn, when I want to sleep, I can't."

Rodney snorted, piled the dishes on the tray, and picked the tray up. He didn't want to end up stepping on anything in the deeps of the night, after all; he deposited the tray on a table near the door and returned to the bed. "Insomnia is never fair."

John was pleating and unpleating the edge of the sheet with lunatic focus. "So, uh, is it okay if I stay?"

Rodney blinked, thought suddenly that John was nervous about asking. "I wasn't planning on throwing you out," he said and winced. He had to get better at curbing his tongue around John.

John looked at him. "Yeah?" Uncertainly.

Eloquence, he thought, irritated with himself. "Of course you can stay."

"Okay." Brief, mischievous smile. "So, you wanna fool around?"

Laughter wanted to bubble up from nowhere. "Define fool around."

John arched an eyebrow.

"That's what I thought," Rodney agreed and pulled off his shirt.


	6. Chapter 6

Morning was a bit awkward at first, at least until John decided that morning sex was a good way to break the ice, and that showering together was a good way to keep it broken. Fucking John against the side of the shower stall was an unexpected, unusual and entirely satisfying way to start the day.

"You're not going to be able to sit down today," Rodney said later, watching John settle gingerly on the bed to pull on borrowed socks.

"I'm sitting down now," John muttered and grinned at him.

'On your hip," Rodney told him, unable to prevent a hint of smugness from surfacing in his tone. "I've created a monster."

"And you love it." John smirked and pulled on a sock. "Or at least, you're not complaining. I'm sure I didn't hear any complaints."

"Maybe Carson should check your hearing, too." But he smiled a little when he said it, looked over at John's hair, damp and floppy and much too long for any self-respecting military officer. "Would you like to use my brush?"

John looked up, eyes narrowed. "Is this about my hair again?"

"It's getting a little out of control, don't you think?" Rodney pulled on a clean shirt, picked up his comb, and peered into the mirror. "If it didn't stand up, nobody would be able to see your eyes."

"Hey, it's not my fault nobody thought to pack a Flowbee." John grinned. "I suppose I could check on one of the planets we visit, you know, hi, we're friendly explorers, and hey, you guys have a barber?"

"It could work. Start small, work up to technology." He walked to the bed and sat down next to John. "You're going to see Carson this morning."

"Yeah, I guess." John grimaced, pulled on the second sock. "I thought I'd head back to my quarters and get clean clothes on, at least. And shoes."

"Don't make me have to mention the hypothermia thing to Elizabeth." Rodney eyed him.

"You wouldn't." John said it confidently, then, as Rodney kept eyeing him. "You wouldn't!"

He smiled slyly. "I might."

John scowled. "Narc."

He snorted. "I'm just giving you fair warning, that's all."

"You worry too much." After a moment, John's mouth twitched. "But thanks."

Truly, he was screwed. Leaning in, he kissed John's mouth lightly. "You're welcome."

John leaned in, put his hand around the back of Rodney's neck and kissed him back a little more intensely, licked his lips when he drew back. "So I'll, uh, see you later today?"

It was a novel and unexpected sensation, realizing that John wanted to see him again. Although after last night and this morning, he supposed he shouldn't find it quite as startling as he did. "Unless Carson decides to confine you the infirmary."

John scowled again. "Are you trying to jinx me?"

He could protest or just kiss John again. He chose the latter. "Eat something, or he might."

John's expression cleared. "Actually, I think I could. Score one for the Menerians." He offered Rodney the dangerous smile again, the one that threatened Rodney's distance and ability to think clearly, and stood up. "I'll see you at breakfast."

Rodney reached for his shoes, looked up in time to see John exit, walking a little carefully. He couldn't help feeling smug over that, any more than he could help feeling smug about the kissing, about that fact that John wanted *him*, or that John had stayed all night, but he was damned well not going to let himself get used to it.

Even if he really wanted to.

 

As it turned out, he did see John at breakfast. John had somehow conned someone into warming up last night's left-over soup for breakfast, and sat down at the table across from Rodney, who was in the middle of a discussion with Zelenka about the results of the mineral analyses from Gansha.

"Hi." That smile again and he completely lost track of what he was saying to Zelenka.

"Good morning, Major," Zelenka said, "How are you feeling?"

"Not bad," John told him. "I finally found something I could eat." He raised the spoon and smiled at Rodney again, as if Rodney had personally invented the soup.

He was doomed, Rodney thought gloomily. How the hell could he keep his distance from *that*? "What are you drinking?"

John smiled at him again. Dammit. "Just water. I thought I'd better keep things simple until I talk to the Doc. You guys making any headway on the mystery amplification?"

Rodney prudently took a bite of bread before he was forced to reveal that he really had lost track of the conversation.

"Not yet," Zelenka said, "But we are beginning to suspect that it may be because of an interaction between this unknown mineral we have found and the actual EM field of the planet."

"Major." Carson's voice, and John closed his eyes briefly.

"Doc," John said and opened his eyes in time to see Carson sit down beside him. "Sorry about yesterday. I just had to get some time to myself."

"I understand. But I'd like to see you when you've finished eating." Carson leaned over to check what was in John's bowl. "So the soup isn't bothering you?"

"Tastes fine," John told him. "And I got some sleep last night, but then, maybe I was just tired enough." He looked sidelong at Rodney, who resisted the urge to kick him under the table.

"There's an improvement, then." Carson looked thoughtful. "Good to hear."

"And to feel," John said and his mouth quirked.

That temptation to kick him again was there, but so was the smugness. To cover both, Rodney finished his tea, wished vainly for coffee, and got up. "I'm going to work."

"I'll see you later," John said and smiled. Again.

Dammit.

He avoided walking into anything on his way out of the dining hall anyway.

 

Pushing away from his desk, Rodney put his hands in the small of his back and stretched. It was getting late, he realized, and stood up. He wasn't sure whether or not to be relieved that John hadn't shown up to misbehave in the lab, or whether or not to be worried. Relieved was his first inclination, which was not only illogical, but more than a little unfair to John. "Hey," he said to Kavanaugh, "Where is everyone?"

Kavanaugh glanced at him. "I would guess they're doing whatever it is they do when they're not working."

"And you're still here because?" He allowed his eyebrows to rise.

Impatient look. "Because this is what I do when I'm not working."

Kavanaugh really was a nasty bastard sometimes, but then people said the same thing about him and it was just as true, even if it would take torture to get him to admit it.

He could say that now, since he really had been tortured and knew what it was like, he mused. Once it had all been over, John had gone to a great deal of trouble to find him when he was brooding about his lack of resistance to pain. John had gone to a great deal more trouble to describe the training received by the military members of their expedition and had added, "And people still break. They taught me that everybody breaks, it's a question of how. "

He wasn't sure how he felt about that even now. It seemed a terribly defeatist method, but psychology was even more akin to voodoo than medicine, at least in his view.

When he knocked on John's door, he heard a faint, "Com'in," and pressed the access to open the door. John was in bed, leaning up on one elbow, peering sleepily at him.

Damn, the man looked good, disheveled and bare-chested and half-awake. "I woke you, sorry."

"I've been sleeping all day. Doc insisted." John sat up. "Well, most of the day anyway." He yawned. "Come on in."

The door closed behind Rodney. "Maybe I should just let you go back to sleep if that's what Carson prescribed."

John yawned again. "I was awake, actually, just too damn lazy to move. You don't realize how good sleep is until you haven't been getting any." He swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Anything exciting happen today?"

"Thankfully, no." He folded his arms and stood awkwardly near the door. "What else did Carson say?"

"The mystery toxic stuff level seems to have gone down a little. Not a lot, but a little." John shrugged. "He muttered something about hemodialysis, said you mentioned it, but evidently he doesn't have the right equipment. Which is probably a good thing, if he was talking about something like kidney dialysis, that's not exactly on my list of things I want to do in my lifetime." He offered Rodney that sweet smile again. "What did you do today? Save the planet?"

"No, no, I'm saving that for tomorrow." Drawn in spite of his resolve, Rodney sat down on the bed next to John. "Today, just the city."

"Or me?" John leaned in and kissed him, not as clumsy as before, but still a little awkward.

"You?" Rodney rolled his eyes. "Somehow, I'm not sure fucking you counts as saving you."

Crooked grin. "No, that just made me happy. But you did badger me into eating that soup, and Doc says he thinks that's had an effect."

That made him squirm. "As much as I hate not to take credit, I had no way of knowing that. And you need to work on those moves."

John blushed, but the grin stayed. "Yeah, I need practice."

He was doomed. He put one hand on the back of John's neck and leaned in and kissed him, licking his way into it and then out again.

John's eyes were half-closed when Rodney drew back. "I think I get it. My turn."

He couldn't help laughing at that, but the next effort was far more impressive, even if John did end up laughing into his mouth, which he wasn't sure he understood. "What?"

"I was just thinking, this is sort of surreal. I mean, I don't usually get what I want." John's mouth twitched. "Yeah, I see your expression, I'm the football hero type, I'm supposed to always get what I want, right?"

He was a little embarrassed that it was so visible. "Let me see, football player, military hero, charmingly boyish grin--I suppose you're going to tell me you don't," he said irritably.

"Not as often as you seem to think." John's smile faded. "Oh, forget it, I don't want to get into this shit, Rodney, I want to kiss you." He hesitated. "Please?"

"I don't recall hearing myself say no a moment ago," he said, still a little irritated.

John hesitated again, then leaned in and kissed him almost delicately, little licks and nips that were actually very nice and went a long way toward dispelling his irritation. A very long way, actually, and he put an arm around John's waist and his other hand in John's hair. Soft hair, damp with sweat at the nape, and John kissed him more deeply with an edge of something that could have been desperation or hunger, he wasn't sure which.

It was disturbing and erotic at the same time, and when he would have drawn back, John cupped his face between two hands and put his forehead against Rodney's. "See me, okay." Softly, desperately.

It unsettled him badly. "I have no idea what you're talking about, John." Which wasn't wholly true.

John sighed and kissed him again, let his hands slide to Rodney's shoulders. "Okay."

He wasn't sure it was. "What did Carson give you?"

John sighed again, rolled his eyes, and leaned back against the headboard, shifting his legs to Rodney's lap. "Atarax. It's an antihistamine."

He rubbed his fingertips over the fabric, realized John was wearing long underwear "I'm aware of what it is, I have allergies." He frowned. "How much did he give you?"

John reached out to the table beside his bed, held up a small bottle, and tossed it to him. "Not enough to get high, if that's what you're asking."

Rodney looked inside anyway. Low-dose, lower than he himself sometimes took for his allergies. "This put you to sleep?"

"I'm a cheap date." There was an edge to John's voice.

It made him feel obscurely that he'd hurt John's feelings somehow, which was odd, because John's feelings had never been hurt by any of his more sarcastic remarks. Worst of all, he had no idea how to mend it, precisely, although he wasn't so dim about personal nuances that he didn't understand it had to do with his comments about John getting what he wanted.

John gave him the annoying trademark smile. "It's okay, Rodney, I'm just a big dumb jock."

His temper sparked. "Oh, I don't think so, John. I think that's your camouflage, although I have to say I'd respect you more if you didn't resort to it so often."

He might as well have kicked a puppy. John flushed and looked away. How the hell had they gotten here, he thought distantly and couldn't figure it out, but maybe he could take a page from John's book and go with less talk, for a change and more action. He reached out, grabbed John's wrist and squeezed it. "My turn."

Startled look, and he got up on the bed, tumbled John onto his back and leaned in to kiss him as delicately as John had kissed him. It was terrifying to feel this much, he decided, he'd forgotten how terrifying, and really, being a bastard was a lot more comfortable. John's eyes had given him a not altogether pleasant and definitely shocking epiphany about this….this…. whatever it was they were doing. For the first time in his life, he held the power in a relationship, and the temptation to take advantage of it, to take advantage of John, was glittering and shiny and bright

Except that then he'd be as bad as the people who had taught him to despise himself and his weakness in wanting them. And he wasn't seventeen now, he knew better, wanted better, and God, John was the brave one here, letting him see past the usual façade.

He was breathing hard when he drew back. "It might be a good idea if we learned to see each other or allowed ourselves to be seen. Or we could just quit while we're ahead, because I'm not really interested in the experience of ripping each other apart for recreation."

John hitched in a shaky breath and stared up at him, looking far more vulnerable than he had any right to look. "Fair enough." Faintly. "I haven't always seen you clearly, either."

"No, you haven't." His voice was more edged than he intended and he put his hand on John's chest to modulate the effect. "So what else did Carson say?" Not the smoothest segue, he had to admit, but what the hell was he to do with a man who clearly hadn't a clue as to the protocols of buddy fucking and insisted on taking it seriously and handed him the keys to….well, everything?

"That's about it. Except that he's cautiously optimistic." John's fingers brushed his tentatively.

"Doctors are always cautious when they're optimistic. It's some sort of rule, except when they shouldn't be." Rodney sighed. "Then it's always, you're fine, take two aspirin." He kissed John's mouth, not so delicately this time. Much better, he decided and ran his fingertips over the soft skin behind John's ear, down to his shoulder. John shivered and wrapped an arm around him, kissing back with hunger that didn't taste of desperation, and that was all to the good. He liked the shiver, moved his mouth to the edge of John's jaw, nipped and kissed the soft flesh under it, while John's hand curved around the nape of his neck. There was salt on his tongue and he could feel the raised tissue from the scars from where that obscene Wraith creature had fed, feel John's pulse. Sex was good, even if the emotions were getting a little unsettling; he slipped his hand beneath John's waistband and did his best to make sure John didn't have the breath to talk.

He certainly didn't, at least not for a while, and by the time he did, neither of them seemed to have either the desire or the need to talk. John sprawled, one arm over Rodney's chest, his forehead against Rodney's shoulder. "Well," Rodney finally managed, "I'd have to say Carson's optimism may be justified."

"Hey, I told you I couldn't be all that sick." John's breath was warm on his skin. "Maybe Elizabeth'll even put me back on the duty roster."

"That might be a bit premature, don't you think, considering?" He said it lazily, rubbed the sole of one foot over John's shin.

"Yeah, but it's optimism, that's the key." John nuzzled. "You smell good."

"It's either my shower gel or my deodorant. And since you used both this morning, you smell good, too." He quelled his impulse to flee, shifted and slid an arm under John's neck, used his other hand to brush that ridiculous hair out of John's eyes.

Given an inch, John took a mile, put his head in the crook of Rodney's shoulder, and his leg over both of Rodney's. He could feel the curve of a smile against his throat and said, "You're not unlike kudzu, you know. You creep."

John snickered. "Kudzu?"

"One little disturbance of the ecological chain and look what happened."

"I'm not planning on draping myself over anyone else." John's arm tightened over his chest. "And I hadn't planned on doing it in public, but you know, that could be fun."

He pulled a lock of John's hair. "You really haven't the slightest notion of self-preservation, have you? Personally, I'm planning on us being able to contact Earth again, and I'd like to think we don't destroy your career between us."

"My career was already destroyed." John sighed. "Why the hell do you think I took McMurdo?"

"You cherished a fondness for snow?" In truth, Rodney was curious about that. He'd heard the initial conversation on John's arrival at the Ancient's Outpost, heard O'Neill tell Jackson that John liked it in Antarctica. Even he didn't like it there, and despite that, no one could have torn him away from the outpost without shooting him in the head first.

"I cherished a fondness for relative solitude." John's tension was just barely perceptible, but it was there. "I got into trouble in Afghanistan. Disobeyed orders to go behind enemy lines and pick up some of our guys who were trapped. Two died, but I got three out. Thing is, I deliberately disobeyed orders and not too politely, so I made an enemy. Made me sick. The guys were alive and going home to their families, and the big thing was I didn't toe the line."

"That seems both counter-productive and a little unfair," Rodney said mildly.

"Gotta have chain of command." John's voice was getting drowsy. "I know that, it just pisses me off sometimes the way it works. Of course, my dad--" He stopped suddenly. "Anyway, after that, I just wanted to get the fuck away from people. And it's a pretty small duty station there, so I figured I could tolerate it. CO was a decent guy, good officer, and even if he was ready to bust my chops when I got there, we ended up getting on okay. He played a mean game of chess." Not quite chuckle. "One of those little magnetic sets."

He filed the chess revelation away for later consideration and, of course, dearly wanted to know about John's dad. "And then General O'Neill came down."

"And I nearly got shot down by an Ancient drone." Another chuckle. "Sat down in a chair that lit up like downtown Manhattan."

"So what did your dad think about you coming here?"

John sighed and rolled away, swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Dunno. I sent him a letter. Didn't hear back, didn't expect to hear back."

"Your mother?"

"She died when I was at the Academy." Flat tone.

Rodney considered the line of John's back. "Mine are both alive, but frankly, I haven't talked to them in years, and I wouldn't think they'd be terribly concerned to know I was gone."

John looked over his shoulder. "Families. Can't live with 'em, can't shoot 'em."

"Exactly," Rodney agreed.

That sweet smile again and John held out a hand. "Shower?"

"And then food. I'm starving and you could use another meal." Rodney sat up. "Or two."

John snorted. "I've only lost eight pounds, Rodney. I can pick that up in a couple of meals."

"That statement will remain unsubstantiated by evidence until you actually do it."

"Shower," John said, ignoring this. "Although my soap isn't as cool as yours."

So shower gel was cool. There was an interesting thought. Rodney nodded thoughtfully. "I won't think less of you."

John raised one eyebrow, and smirked. "That's good, because I had in mind a little exploration of the up close and intimate kind for later this evening."

"You really, really can't be that sick," Rodney said and let himself be tugged off the bed. "Either that, or this toxin could be bottled and used as an aphrodisiac on Earth."

"The side effects are a bitch," John told him.

There was that, true. "We'll put Carson to work on that."

John's smirk turned into a grin. "Maybe we could get rich, and then I could retire from the Air Force to live in luxury."

He snorted. "You'd be bored."

"Not if you were there." Wicked grin.

Definitely an aphrodisiac. He shook his head, goosed John, and was first into the shower, even if it wasn't his bathroom.


	7. Chapter 7

It was surreal, really, as the days passed, to have John show up in his lab looking for him if he didn't find John. It was surreal to feel secretive about this whatever it was they were doing, because if he had a good thing going, he generally wasn't shy about letting other people know. It was surreal to feel like he had a good thing going and to feel oddly certain that letting other people know about it would be the death knell. Or maybe that last wasn't surreal as much as it was just good sense.

John was military. He was the highest-ranking officer in Atlantis. The rest were Marines, who had been Colonel Sumner's men. Marines weren't generally the most tolerant of military types, not that military types were all particularly tolerant, and even if that was a shameful generalization, he was okay with that because he was feeling bizarrely protective of John and taking chances with John's career, or conceivably John's life, was not on his To Do list.

John, on the other hand, seemed moderately reckless about that. Not that he did anything overt in the public display mode, but he did spend a lot of time hunting Rodney down through out the day which was, Rodney thought, being noticed by more than a few of their colleagues.

Fortunately, none of those noticing seemed to be Marines, but he suspected it was only a matter of time.

"You've got to be careful," he warned John one evening, after John had appeared to drag him away from the lab and had, instead, cornered Rodney, unfastened Rodney's trousers and given him an extremely pleasurable and enthusiastic blow job that had completely melted his brain and thus any ability to protest the recklessness of having incendiary sex in the lab.

"I'm always careful." John sprawled back on Rodney's desk, looking thoroughly debauched with his pants open and his cock still thick and flushed despite Rodney's very successful reciprocation. "Very careful. When have you noticed me not being careful?"

"Certifiable," Rodney muttered and put his hand in John's hair, shook at him. "Anyone could have come in."

"I locked the door." John's smile was sunny and he sat up to put his arms around Rodney. "I'm not stupid."

"Just reckless." Rodney leaned in anyway, kissed him. "Maniac."

John rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, you've created a monster. Talk Elizabeth into letting me go out again, I won't be so bored I come up with novel ways of entertaining us both."

He rubbed the edge of John's jaw with his fingertips. "Carson hasn't given you an all clear, and you're still having some symptoms."

"Not so many." John kissed him again, probably an attempt to distract him.

"You forget, I talk to Carson." But he took the sting from the words by returning the kiss.

John sighed, let go of him and leaned back slightly to fasten up his trousers. "The what's it—the parathesia's easing up."?

He nodded. John was eating, too, but according to Carson, the mystery toxin from the k'ria tea was blocking full absorption of nutrients. None of it made any sense to Carson, and what was more, it made no sense to Carson the k'ria was toxic to only one person who had consumed it.

Except.

Except.

He took hold of John's face with both hands, stunned. "Oh, my God, we've looked straight at it, how incredibly stupid!"

John stared at him. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"The ATA gene. That's it! That's why the k'ria only affected you. I didn't drink any." He kissed John soundly. "Come on, we need to talk to Carson."

"You might want to finish getting zipped up," John offered wickedly. "Unless you're planning on giving Beckett a thrill."

"Oh, yeah." He tucked and zipped, still thinking it over, glanced up to see John's face, a little reflective, maybe a little sad. He felt a pang, backed John against the edge of the desk to kiss him again. "You realize, none of that was intended as a complaint."

Mischief and pleasure reappeared. "Hey, I'm just glad the distraction worked."

"Yea, verily." He paused for another kiss, was happy to let John pull him close. "I'm definitely not complaining, you know, I just…do you have even the slightest drive for self-preservation?"

"Enough to lock the door." John's hands were on his ass again. "Look, I have to tell you, I'm not shooting for a dishonorable discharge, but on the other hand, as much as I hate to point it out, we may never get back, and I'm not going to spend a lot of time being afraid of something that might not be important. Your problem is that you have an incredibly vivid imagination for a scientist."

"We're supposed to have vivid imaginations, where do you think we come up with ideas?"

"I dunno, I thought you were supposed to be putting facts together in new and interesting ways." John licked Rodney's earlobe, nibbled at it. "God, if only I was still seventeen."

"Jesus, what for?" Rodney pulled away, freshly reminded of the differences between them. "Seventeen wasn't as bad as, say, fourteen, but it wasn't a barrel of laughs, either."

John let go of him, sighed. "You have a point. Let's go see Carson."

He studied John's expression, felt obscurely as if he'd missed something. "What was so great about seventeen?"

John smiled, but it was what Rodney thought of as the public smile. "When you're seventeen, you need almost zero recovery time, remember?"

"Oh." He stared. "In that case, you have a point."

Some of the mischief returned to the set of John's mouth. "Alas, we met too late in life."

"Give me an hour, you won't worry about it any more," Rodney told him and headed to the door. "Carson."

"Carson," John agreed.

 

Carson found his idea interesting, but wasn't entirely sure it was useful in the long run. "Now, as I told you before, the short version of what the gene does is to instruct various cells to produce a series of proteins and enzymes that interact with the brain, the nervous system and the skin, and the presence of these proteins and enzymes are recognized by the 'key' in the Ancient technology. Now, the Major hasn't had any trouble using any of the ATA triggered technology since he ingested the k'ria."

"Yes, yes, yes, but since none of the others produce the same amount of these proteins and enzymes, isn't it possible that the reason John reacted badly to the k'ria lies in the very fact that his body does?"

"Of course," Carson said patiently. "I'm just not seeing how we can use that information to undo any damage he's suffered."

"Whoa," John, who had been leaning back on an infirmary bed, straightened. "What kind of damage?"

Carson abruptly looked a little uncomfortable. "Major, the parathesia itself indicates that the k'ria toxin affected your nervous system, we discussed this."

"But I didn't catch anything about permanent damage." John narrowed his eyes. "What kind of permanent damage?"

"It's possible that you may have some permanent neuropathy, which is to say, the burning and tingling, muscle weakness, fatigue, and possibly, although I don't see it at this point, ataxia."

John looked as if he'd just been punched in the solar plexus. "Permanent."

"Major, it's only a possibility, and you've confounded my expectations ever since we first realized what was happening." Carson took a step forward. "As long as you follow the diet restrictions, we've got a natural chelating effect, which is all to the good."

'Worst-case scenario," John snapped. "Let me hear it clear, okay?"

"I think you're experiencing the worst case scenario, Major." Carson kept his composure. "Your exposure to the toxin ended, you've had some improvement—you've reported that the burning and tingling has eased up somewhat and that you're not experiencing muscle weakness."

"So I'm not going to get worse, but I might not get better." John's tone was flat.

"That is a possibility." Carson's tone was regretful.

"So, I can't fly any more." John folded his arms. "I'm grounded permanently."

"That's up to Dr. Weir," Carson hedged. "I canna see any reason that you wouldn't be able to fly."

John considered that. "Okay. Thanks." He turned on his heel and walked out.

"That could have gone better," Carson said softly. "I thought he understood from the beginning."

"Maybe he's just taking it in." Rodney looked at the door. "I'll, uh, talk with you later."

"Rodney."

He looked back at Carson. "What?"

"Have a care. I think that's a man in a lot of pain, and I dinna mean just physical."

"I will." He went after John before he could change his mind.

 

John, as Rodney had half expected, was on the balcony near Rodney's quarters. This time, however, he didn't hesitate; he sat down next to John and bumped his shoulder. "Last time you were here, Carson had you convinced that you were dying by inches."

John gave him a sharp look. "What the fuck does that mean?"

"Well, here you are, how many days later?" He gestured vaguely. "Not only are you not dead, you're actually feeling better."

After a moment, John sighed. "And?"

"Carson's a doctor. When they're not understating, they're overstating. I think they're trained particularly well never to admit that they haven't a clue why you're getting well when they had nothing to do with it." He wasn't really sure what he was aiming for here, but John's expression was too damn bleak.

"You know, it wasn't my idea to come on this trip."

Jarred, Rodney stared at John's profile. "No, I didn't know that."

"I sort of got railroaded, in a way. General O'Neill. " John stared out at the glimmer of starlight on sea. " And Sumner sure as hell didn't want me."

Rodney twitched impatiently. "And this applies to what we're discussing how?"

John gave him an irritated look. "Will you not interrupt, please? You came out here, I didn't drag you."

Fair enough. He waited.

"Anyway, so it turns out I've got stuff to do here after all, and now I can't do it."

"You're being premature. The only reason you're off the duty roster is that Carson insisted. And now he's saying he doesn't see any reason you can't fly. "

"Couldn't you for once be a little sympathetic?" John had progressed to full-fledged outrage.

"Actually, no. I can't be sympathetic to anyone who claims he's unable to fulfill his destiny when he's jumping my bones three times a day." He arched an eyebrow.

John put his head in his hands. "Twice, max."

"I still have hopes for later."

"After this? You can kiss that hope goodbye." John raised his head again, glared.

Rodney shrugged. "Isn't there a saying about that? Cutting off your nose to—"

"Don't say it," John warned.

He smirked.

Dark look. "I really, really, really hate you."

"No, you really, really, really don't." But he felt a pang of guilt anyway, ruthlessly suppressed it. "Come on, neither of us is wearing a coat, and the wind's coming up."

John sighed. "I don't hate you." He bumped his shoulder against Rodney's.

"I know you don't." He bumped back.

"However, if I tell you to suck a lemon, don't take it personally."

He grinned. "You know, Samantha Carter used to tell me that." Another dark look. He waited that out, reached out and took hold of John's hand, laced his fingers with John's. "Less than three weeks ago, Carson was convinced you were dying by inches, that's all, that by this time, you'd be bedridden, and maybe even paralyzed, and you aren't, you've already beaten the worst case scenario. He thought he'd have one of those shunts in you to keep you from starving to death; that didn't happen. If it comes right down to it, I'll bet on you before I'll believe you aren't going to be 100%."

John's fingers tightened around his. "I think you're giving me too much credit."

He shrugged. "That Wraith guard bet against you."

John's head bowed. "Jesus, Rodney." Hoarsely. After a moment, he sighed. "Okay, whine over, let's go get something to eat."

"Great idea." He stayed where he was, still holding John's hand. "Completely aside from all that, John, you're selling yourself short if you think your only purpose here is to handle a gun or fly a puddle-jumper."

"Rodney," John began and then sighed again. "Maybe." He squeezed Rodney's fingers again. "But even if that's it, it's not so bad."

He wasn't sure what to make of that, coming after all the rest. It made his throat tighten a little and he was damned well not going to let himself believe it. He couldn't, not and keep any self-respect whatsoever when John finally got back to normal. But he kept hold of John's hand anyway until they got back inside.


	8. Chapter 8

Carson continued to run tests, and allegedly made recommendations to Elizabeth that apparently had no effect.

"This really sucks," John complained at breakfast. "I'm going stir-crazy."

Ford, who had been passing by with his own breakfast, sat down beside John and across from Rodney. "McKay, you feel like getting over to the mainland?"

He stared blankly at Ford, glanced at John, and saw the frustration. "That's a possibility. Major?"

"You know I'm not cleared to fly." John snarled it.

"No, but I am, and frankly, I'd feel more comfortable if the pilot training me was along." He took a sip of tea, watching John's eyes.

"Oh." John's gaze met his and his mouth curved in a feral smile. "Gotcha. Sure, Lt., I think we can handle that."

Ford smiled at Rodney and took a bite of bread. "Cool. Teyla wants to get over there, too, I'll let her know."

He smiled back, shared conspiracy, and watched John finish his own breakfast with military speed. If John hadn't been so miserable for days, he might have considered dawdling; as it was, it was all that even Ford could do to keep up once they were all moving toward the jumper bay.

The trip out was entirely uneventful, unless Rodney counted that by tacit agreement, John did the flying, once they were out of the city, and the visit with the Athosians was pleasant.

Halling and Jinto greeted them when they got out of the jumper, and Rodney saw Halling's swiftly covered shock at seeing John. It made his gut knot, and he tried to see John with a stranger's eyes, tried to see if John really looked so different. He was frowning over that when Teyla put a hand on his arm.

"It is just that he is thinner and Halling has not seen him for a while." Very softly. "We see him every day, we are accustomed."

He glanced at her, watched John ruffle Jinto's hair. "But he's better."

"They did not see him when he was most ill, right after you returned from Gansha." She smiled at him faintly. "Truly, Rodney, he is looking better. And Halling has more grain for us."

He nodded. "He needed to get away from the city."

"He is used to the freedom of flight." She smiled at Jinto, who was tugging at John's hand.

John looked over at them, laughing a little. "Rodney, he says he's found a cave with writings."

"Don't let him drag you off in that direction," Halling protested.

"Writings?" Rodney caught up, looked at Jinto. "Where?"

"Up in the foothills." Jinto pointed to the north. "Across the river."

"We could do a flyover on the way back," Ford said easily.

"Draw the Major a map, Jinto," Halling told his son. "Come, Teyla, Major Sheppard, I have the season's first pressing."

Rodney was less certain that was a good idea, but kept his mouth shut, passing on the drink and pleading that he was the designated pilot. It was something fermented, faintly alcoholic, and after one sip, John passed his glass to Teyla with an apology to Halling.

"No, you must not apologize." But Halling was clearly distressed.

"Just water, Halling," Teyla said calmly. "We had best not risk tea."

It seemed to Rodney that some of the sheen went off the day, although John continued cheerful while Jinto spread out a piece of Atlantis provided paper and drew a careful map.

"We'll do a flyover on our way back," John told them. "See if Dr. McKay gets any interesting readings."

Jinto beamed.

"And if we do, I'll let you know," Rodney told them.

They didn't stay long, after that, and once in the air, John's mood brightened again. "Okay, so, across the river and to the north, right?"

Teyla examined the map. "Yes, and then over the crest there."

Rodney examined his instruments. "We're getting something," he said, surprised. "We really are."

"Even better." John banked and the readings grew strong. "Should be just under here, anybody see a plateau?"

"There!" Teyla pointed. "And beneath the overhang, that might be a cavern."

"All right, we're going down." John flashed a grin at Rodney. "We'll have a look, see if it's worth taking back to Elizabeth."

The wind that swept the plateau was cold, and Rodney could smell snow in the distance. The clouds were a long way off, but he stood on the rocky plateau and stared at the cloud line until John nudged him. "We've got time."

"Yeah, okay." He followed John toward the overhang, ducked to go through the crevice that was the opening. John turned on the flashlight and shone it on the walls of the cavern. Nothing interesting visually, but the energy surge went off the scale when he aimed them at the west wall of the cave. "There's something back there."

"Something big," John mused and shone the light above them. "Nice high ceiling, no water, nice and dry."

"It does not appear to have been discovered before now," Teyla said quietly.

John's light glinted on something.

"Wait," Rodney said urgently. "Hold it, back over there, John."

John obliged and something glinted again. He stepped carefully forward and touched the rock where he'd seen it. Smooth, except for the dirt and by God, Jinto was right. He brushed away the dirt and dust and saw characters. "Look at this."

"What's it say?" John asked, focusing the light and standing right behind him.

"I haven't a clue. But it's in Ancient." He brushed more dirt away. "And look at this reading. We definitely need to follow up on this." He looked up. "Of course, it would have to be a cave."

"Claustrophobic?" John's voice was amused. "Shouldn't be too hard to enlarge the opening, let some light in.

"That would help," he said. "We need to get back."

"Yeah, I hear ya." John shone the light around again. "Looks safe enough."

"Tell me outside," Rodney told him, and heard Teyla chuckle.

He let John fly them back, took over again without comment as they got close to the city, and John was out of the jumper bay before he could gather his equipment.

He went to Elizabeth's office to discuss the readings with her and found John had beaten him there.

"I'm going stir crazy," John was saying, when Rodney poked his head in.

"I know that, John." Elizabeth's expression was beleaguered. "I'm just not sure that you're well enough to flying off into the potentially wild, blue yonder.

"That's wide blue yonder," John told her, just a little edged, "And I'm fine. No dizziness, no nausea and all the burning tingling crap is gone."

"And Carson says you still have it in your system," Elizabeth countered. "Just because you're feeling well these days doesn't mean you're not at risk. Carson's working in the dark, here, and you know that."

"I can still work!"

Rodney rapped on the doorjamb. It was hardly surprising that John's frustration had peaked; maybe it was a military thing, maybe it was a John thing, or maybe it was both, but sending teams out without going with them had to be difficult. Then, of course, there was the whole not flying thing; he didn't completely understand it, but he understood it was important to John.

She spared him a glance. "Not now, please, Rodney."

John spread his hands and wriggled his fingers. "Elizabeth, I'm fine. Let me work."

"You aren't going off world, John." She said it firmly, steadily and gave him a long look. "You want to work? Dr. Zelenka and his team could use your help in the lab with some tests."

John's expression was more frustrated than usual. "I don't want to go off world, Elizabeth, this is right here." He paused, suddenly horrified. "In the lab?"

Rodney rapped again. "Yes, Elizabeth, about that—"

Another impatient glance. "Rodney, please."

He was getting irritated. "Elizabeth, this is important."

She looked at him. John looked at him.

He bounced on the balls of his feet. "It seems absurdly short-sighted, but we haven't done a systematic search of this planet for any cache of Ancient technology. And yet, I think we've got one." He moved into the room, laid the printouts on Elizabeth's desk. "Right here."

"Put it in context for me, where's the Athosian settlement?" Elizabeth leaned over, frowning a little.

"Here," John said and tapped the spot. "This," he pointed at the mark indicating the source of the readings, "is farther inland. A lot farther inland. We haven't done much exploring that direction, but it's foothill country, just before this mountain range."

"Which means?" Elizabeth looked at Rodney.

"It means it's foothill country," Rodney told her, amused. "But think about Earth, Elizabeth, think about Cheyenne mountain. It's not impossible that there's something out there under those mountains that we haven't seen yet. It's worth looking into."

She gave him a long, assessing look. "And you want Major Sheppard on this trip."

Well, didn't he just want Major Sheppard on every trip? He kept that thought pushed to the back of his mind, kept the smile off his face with an effort. "It's not off-world, and we did find it today."

"True." One corner of her mouth lifted. "Get me a list of who you're taking. I think I can spare you all for a few days. Just be careful."

"I'm always careful," Rodney told her and finally allowed himself to smile.

The rest of the day was spent in a flurry of preparations, and he went to his quarters before going to John's. John was in neither place, and the truth was, he was tired, so he simply lay down on John's bed and closed his eyes, breathing in the scent that was John and touch and warmth and falling into a nonsensical dream of swimming in a blood warm ocean.

He woke to find his arms held down and John kneeling astride, shirtless and wearing only his uniform pants. "I looked for you," John said softly. "I couldn't find you anywhere."

"I was here," he said, still not completely certain he was awake. "Waiting for you."

"And you were here," John agreed and kissed him, warm and lush and hungry and tasting faintly of something fermented.

"What have you been drinking?" he asked blurrily.

"That stuff of Halling's. He gave Ford some. I gave it another try." John kissed him again, licked his jaw. "It wasn't so bad. You taste a helluva lot better, though."

"Do I?" The whole thing felt dreamlike, but comfortably real at the same time. "You taste pretty good yourself."

"I want you to fuck me, Rodney," John murmured against his cheek. "I suppose a guy like me should be going through serious existential angst about wanting your dick up my ass, but I'm not. Do you suppose that's a good thing?"

He woke up a little more. "Well, I'm biased, of course I do."

"I suppose I'm a little biased, too. After all, I don't want anybody else's dick up my ass."

A peculiar wave of possessiveness washed over him, left him gasping into John's mouth. "That's damn good to hear," he said fiercely, then, "If that's what you want, I probably should get rid of some of these clothes."

"Probably." John licked his earlobe. "I suppose I should be having serious existential angst about the fact that I like sucking your cock, too. But I don't." He didn't let Rodney move, but he did sit up and regard Rodney with a thoughtful look. "I think Ford and Teyla have figured me out."

He felt the faintest spark of alarm. "Why do you think that?"

"Ford was talking in circles. And Teyla kept smiling." John shrugged. "I think it was supposed to be reassuring. I can't say it wasn't, but did you know that Teyla and Ford are—" Vague gesture. "Close?"

"No, I didn't, but I'm not surprised." He felt curiously calm again. "John, come on back down here and kiss me."

John beamed at him and obeyed. John's skin was warm and sweet, and he had to admit, a tipsy John was damn near the prettiest thing he'd ever seen. John's weight shifted and he could use his arms; he wrapped them around a very appreciative John and rolled them both over.

John found that funny, and pulled back to grin at him. "Sneaky."

"It's all those military things you've been teaching me," he murmured and began working fairly intensively to show John a very good time. That necessitated some time out to remove various obstacles, although John happily tumbled from bed to find his jacket midway in the proceedings. "I had to go see Doc to get the usual blood work done, so I did something useful while I was waiting."

Rodney leaned up, briefly transfixed by the view of John's ass. "What?"

John returned to the bed. "I figure we're going to end up running out of hand lotion, so I sort of borrowed this." He snickered, tossed a tube of lubricant onto the bed. "It may not be the best, but what the hell."

Rodney picked up the tube and burst out laughing. "You stole this from the infirmary."

John sprawled beside him. "Borrowed." Solemnly.

"Borrowed. Well, I'm not giving it back." He put the tube aside and pulled John into a lengthy kiss. "Very creative thinking. But then, you're a very creative thinker. I like that, creative thinking." He ran his fingertips down John's belly, following the line of dark hair.

John hooked a leg over his. "Gotta think outside the box," he murmured and licked Rodney's jaw.

And wasn't John surprisingly good at that at the most unexpected times? There was a thought there he ought to track down, but how could anyone be expected to think clearly with a naked, horny, delightfully tipsy John Sheppard doing his best to obliterate thought. He licked his way down John's stomach, swallowed John down and felt John's groan in muscle and bone. He distantly thought it was sometimes more fun to drive John crazy with desire than to let John drive him crazy, John was so astonishingly responsive and uninhibited in bed. John's cock was thick and hot against his tongue and the head was so surprisingly and exquisitely sensitive when John was this aroused.

"Rodney!" It was a gasp. "Please."

He stroked his tongue around the rim, fumbled with one hand for the tube, opened it, and squeezed. He'd have let it warm on his fingertips except John's fingers tightened, not quite hard enough to bruise.

"God, Rodney," John gasped at either the penetration or the chill, he wasn't sure which, but pushed back against his fingers. "Yes, yes, yes, that's it, that's so good."

He let John's cock slip from his mouth, licked the inside of John's thigh, and felt the muscles tremble. More lube, more stroking, and then he slid back up John's body, kissed his mouth hungrily, and allowed himself to be rolled onto his back.

"That's good," John said into his mouth and nipped at his jaw. He laughed, a little breathlessly, and put his hands on John's hips, pressed upward into the slick, hot clench of flesh as John pushed down. His vision narrowed down to the indentation of teeth on John's lower lip, the bead of sweat forming in the hollow of John's throat and the near-overload of sensation at being buried balls-deep in John's body between one breath and another.

"Fuck, that's good." John's voice was shaky. The bead of sweat rolled down John's chest and fell.

Rodney let go of John's left hip and folded his fingers around John's cock. "Like this?" he asked hoarsely. "Is this what you want, John?"

"I want everything," John groaned and leaned down to kiss him. They found a rhythm slowly, and then he couldn't stand it, he had to thrust harder, deeper, and John was evidently in favor of that, he let his head fall back so all Rodney could see was the line of his throat—amazingly phallic, that, and how had he never noticed that before in his life? —and the angle of cheekbone and jaw.

John kept surprising him, even when he thought he couldn't be surprised, not even by himself. He groaned as John moved, leaned up to kiss John's mouth, to soothe away the self-inflicted bite, and John's cock slid against his palm. "Harder," John told him hoarsely, and then again, "Harder, dammit."

Something wild took hold; he arched, grabbed John, and rolled them both over before pulling out completely. "Get on your knees," he growled, sounding utterly unlike himself.

Heat sparked in John's gaze and he obeyed, positioning that sweet ass at just the right height and he drove in again and then again, gripping John's hips too hard. Everything narrowed down to sensation—the small of John's back tasted of salt, and he could see John's fists clenched in the bedclothes--and the need to make John come, thrusting again and again until his own heart was pounding too loudly to hear anything but John's guttural cry and his own endless groan as orgasm wrenched his nerves.

Sanity returned with the ability to breathe, and he was abruptly alarmed at John's stillness beneath him. "John?" Hoarsely.

"Unh." Faintly and he eased them both over.

"John?"

"Le'me 'lone, I'm dead." A little muffled, but not dissatisfied.

Relieved, he kissed the crook between John's neck and shoulder. "Dead?"

A sigh. "Maybe just passed out."

He couldn't help it. "You fainted?" That got him pinched. "Ow!"

"Wow," John corrected, still sounding a little dazed. "Not ow."

He still felt a pang. "It may be wow now, but let's hope it's not ow tomorrow."

"Shut up, Rodney." John stretched against him and he carefully pulled out. "I mean, Jesus, you know I'm not a virgin."

There was that. He kissed John's throat again. "And how." John, in fact, was the pushiest bottom he'd ever known.

"Besides, we're going to be out there a few days, 's gonna be hard to get any privacy for this." John sighed again. "Wow."

He rolled on to his back. "True. Especially as noisy as *you* are."

"Ha. I'm not the only one." Smugness again.

Smug and flushed and post-orgasm John Sheppard was enough to sneak under all his barriers and over all his walls. He sat up, eyed that flushed and sated face, and kissed John's cheek before getting up. John watched him, half-smiling, as he headed for the bathroom.

"Nice ass, Rodney."

He looked over his shoulder. "Yes, it is. You should give it a test run one of these days."

"I would, but my own base desires keep getting the better of me." John leaned up on one elbow, offered him that dangerous smile, the smile Rodney only saw when they were alone. Sleepy-eyes, still flushed, and entirely delicious, John Sheppard was trouble with a capital T and he couldn't even bring himself to care.

He was beginning to think no one else ever saw that smile, and while that kind of thinking was probably dangerous, he couldn't seem to stop himself.

"I can see I'm going to have to take charge," he told John and went to attend to necessities.


	9. Chapter 9

"Well, this is interesting." John squinted at the cavern wall. "Can you read that?"  
   
Rodney frowned at the etchings. "Well, not yet. I'm sure we can figure it out." He leaned in close, frowned again. "This isn't text."  
   
John took a step closer. "Looks like equations to me."   
   
Rodney looked at him sidelong. "Equations?" He felt a brief stab of envy, wondered if it was the gene that let John see the pattern.  
   
John's lips moved soundlessly and he pointed. "Yeah. Base six, maybe. If they used zero."  
   
There was a silence in the cavern.   
   
"Equations," Zelenka mused.  
   
He stared at John. Base six. "Let's assume you're right," he told John abruptly, "Let's get them documented before we do anything else here."  
   
"But the readings are beyond this wall." Kavanaugh's voice was sharp with dismay.  
   
"If I've learned anything working for the SGC, I've learned to leave things in situ until it's absolutely necessary to move them." Rodney watched John, who was still calculating and converting if the tilt of his head was indicative. "Major, why don't you see what you can come up with in the way of solving the equations while we make sure we get them recorded for posterity and future reference."  
   
"I didn't say I could solve them." John's tone was dismayed. "I just said they looked like equations."  
   
Everyone looked at him again, including Rodney. The dismay was very real, Rodney noted, and there were two very bright splotches of red along John's cheekbones.

"Dr. Corrigan," Rodney said, hopefully diverting attention. "The wall is yours for the moment. Everybody else, camp set up."  
   
John glared at him and stomped out of the cavern in a decidedly uncharacteristic fashion.  
   
"What the hell is wrong with him?" Kavanaugh muttered. "Just because you made the mistake of assuming he had a brain."  
   
He bit back what he wanted to say and followed John out, even though there were way too many people around. "Major?"  
   
John was already opening up a tent. "What?" Definitely snappish.  
   
Not good. "What made you think they were equations?"  
   
"They looked like equations." John's expression was thunderous, the red splotches had gotten larger, and he wouldn't meet Rodney's gaze.  
   
"They didn't look like equations to me," Rodney told him, and felt that irrational envy again. "And I work with equations all goddamn day long, so could you give me a hint?"  
   
John did look at him then, angry and puzzled. "The way the symbols line up."  
   
Rodney waited, not altogether patiently.   
   
John made a hissing sound, reached into his jacket, and pulled out a small note pad and a pencil. "Look, they line up like this." He jotted numbers down in various positions, handed the pad to Rodney.  
   
He still didn't see it. It made his head ache and he rubbed his forehead. "Have I mentioned I could really learn to dislike you?" The quick flicker of hurt that showed before the smooth public mask fell into place made him wish he'd bitten his tongue out before saying that. "Okay, that wasn't funny, I'm sorry."  
   
John focused on the tent, yanking the corners into place. "It's fine, don't worry about it."   
   
He could let it go. He could. But he'd been on the other end of that too often, and dammit, John meant something to him. He put a hand over one of John's wrists. "I'm just used to being the one who sees it," he managed to get out. "And having to explain it."  
   
John stopped moving. Took in a breath. "I don't know how to explain it. It just looked like equations. And if they are, it only made sense that they were base six and I can't explain that, either, but it's not the gene, Rodney, it's just my head."   
   
The pulse under his fingertips was beating a little too fast. "All right." He squeezed gently, released. "Maybe you can take a look at it later, okay?"  
   
John looked at the tent. "Yeah, if you want me to." Not happily.  
   
"Thanks," he said and meant it, even though he could barely conceive of hiding his abilities, couldn't understand what might drive John in that direction.   
   
John finally looked at him and something he couldn't quite decipher flickered behind John's eyes. "You're welcome." Rusty voice.  
   
Doomed. He was doomed. He was crouched on a cold plateau in front of a cavern with several of his fellow scientists milling around, and three of John's military colleagues and he wanted to put his arms around John and wipe that look off John's face. Nobody should feel that….bereft. Ever. He settled for squeezing John's wrist again. "We're sharing a tent," he muttered, "If anyone asks, send 'em over to me."  
   
One corner of John's mouth lifted and he felt better, that was how much of a lunatic he'd become. "They won't."  
   
"Good." He got up and went back in to keep Kavanaugh from driving Corrigan insane.  
   
   
He didn't have much of a chance to speak to John again until it was late enough that even Kavanaugh was ready to give up and go to bed. Bates and Ford were standing first watch, apparently, and that meant John was probably already asleep, but when he found the tent, John was still awake, reading by flashlight. Thankfully, it wasn't the ubiquitous War and Peace, he told himself and noted with amusement that the sleeping bags were zipped together.  
   
"You have no sense of self-preservation whatsoever, do you?"  
   
"I certainly do." John didn't look up from the book. "Shared body heat."  
   
Ah. "I wasn't complaining," he said and sat down to take off his boots and outer clothing before getting into the sleeping bag. John's body heat had certainly taken the chill off it and he slid down, sinking into that heat as if it were a warm bath. "Very nice," he muttered against John's shoulder and slid his hand under John's shirt. "Very, very nice. So how much sleep do you get tonight?"  
   
John dropped the flashlight and chuckled. "I take next watch, so I get about half the night. Your hands are cold."  
   
"Yes, I know, why do you think I'm taking advantage of shared body heat?" He shifted enough that John could get rid of the book. "We need space heaters."  
   
"If we end up staying, I'll see if we can get Elizabeth to send some out." The flashlight clicked off and John rolled into him, put an arm around him.  
   
He wasn't entirely sure what to make of that reaction, but contented himself with nuzzling John's hair. His silence paid off.  
   
"I get that it's neurotic," John said suddenly, out of the darkness. "You spend long enough hearing adults wonder if you're an idiot savant at an impressionable age, though, it's hard to forget."  
   
His ears all but came to a point. "Ah."  
   
"Long time ago. I didn't even realize it was still lurking." John's breath was warm on his throat. "So yeah, I'll take a look at the equations."  
   
He lay very still, thinking. "You're always pulling that numbers trick."  
   
"That's different. That's…a party trick." Rueful tone. "Getting called on it in front of other people? Equations? Serious shit, Rodney."  
   
He couldn't imagine wanting to hide his abilities or being ashamed of them. He wasn't even, strictly speaking, ashamed of his musical ability, it was simply too painful to talk about since he'd wanted so much more. He made a noncommittal sound in lieu of anything useful to say.  
   
John sighed again and tightened his arm and Rodney was freshly reminded of the fact even if John had lost weight he really hadn't needed to lose, he was still pretty damn strong in spite of it. He laughed softly, nudged one knee in between John's legs. "I'm not going anywhere just because you can do equations."  
   
That earned him a punitive nip on the chin.   
   
He was still smiling when he slipped under the surface of sleep.

 

John was gone when he woke up, but that was hardly surprising; John was out doing the military thing, and that was really too bad in one way, because he wasn't as warm as he'd been when John was still there, and really too good in another way, because then he didn't have to resist the temptation of John's sleep warmed body.  
   
So he got up and got dressed and went out into the cold to have entirely inadequate tea for a breakfast warm-up, grunted good morning at Corrigan, who was waxing rhapsodic over the carved stone inside the cavern. There was no sign of John outside on the plateau, but when he went inside, he saw John sitting in the shadows with one of Corrigan's sketchpads.   
   
"It looks like this could be a code," Kavanaugh said sourly. "And that section is the touch pad. Which means we need Major Sheppard to enter the code."  
   
"Which means, Major Sheppard needs to figure the code out." Corrigan came up behind Rodney. "These…equations are placed in sequence, so the prevailing consensus theory is that the solution for each should be entered into the keypad."  
   
He frowned. "If it were that simple, the Wraith could have solved it."  
   
They looked at him. "There's no knowing if the Wraith could read or comprehend Ancient script," Corrigan offered.  
   
"There's no way of knowing that they don't," Rodney countered.   
   
Kavanaugh frowned. "He has a point," he told Corrigan.  
   
Rodney considered verbal violence, decided against it, and went to check on John. Neatly printed numbers translated from the wall, calculations equally neatly labeled, and John was frowning at the pad. "Anything interesting?"  
   
John glanced up. "Didn't the Ancients use base ten? Why would they set up a code in base six?"

Rodney frowned at the page. "Yes, but why would they limit themselves to base ten?

"I dunno." John squinted at the page. "If I convert the equations back to base ten, I come up with proofs for Mersennes primes."

He looked at the top of John's head, thunderstruck. "Good lord."

"At least up to here." John tapped his pencil on the page. "Since I recognized the first thirty-eight, I cheated on the last ten here and just wrote them in. But the last ten equations….we need a computer program, Rodney, my brain just isn't quite big enough to run the calculations even with a calculator. I wish I could, nobody's gotten past thirty-nine Mersennes so far as I know." Apologetic look.

The look killed him. He opened his mouth, closed it, felt a stab of envy that was intense enough to make his knees wobble and shut it down without pausing to even notice it. "I'll give Guderian a call, see what he can come up with if you'll let me have the equations."

Relieved grin. "Sure." John handed him the pad of paper. "I hope the processors on that mainframe you guys built can handle it."

"So do I." It was so starting to look like a doomed trip, Rodney thought regretfully and resisted the urge to pat John's shoulder. It was possible that Ford had figured things out because Teyla was sharp enough to notice the little interpersonal things, but it was also possible that Ford was just picking up on John's recklessness, and he wasn't going to compound that recklessness.

Guderian was so excited to get the scanned page that he kept drifting into Russian. Which was fine, except that Rodney's head was beginning to ache, and Kavanaugh wasn't any damn help whatsoever.

"But what if they've got it set to self-destruct if we can't enter the numbers?" Kavanaugh was practically whining.

He was going to develop a nervous tic. "Oh, well, naturally, we'll pack it with C4 and blow the wall while standing inside the cavern."

John walked past him, smirking a little. "We didn't bring C4."

"Or maybe we'll just use P-90s," he snapped and Kavanaugh stared at him as if he'd lost his mind. "If we can't open it this trip, we'll open it later, so why don't you just see if you can figure out some of those equations."

"I thought Major Sheppard was doing that," Kavanaugh snarled back. "Oh, wait, he's not exactly the brain trust, is he."

"He recognized them as equations, Kavanaugh," Corrigan said, coming up behind them. "I think that puts him one step ahead of you."

If looks could kill, Corrigan would have been dead on the ground. Corrigan, being Corrigan, was completely untroubled. And for all that he generally found the social sciences little better than guesswork, he couldn't help finding that amusing, especially when Kavanaugh stalked off in bad temper.

He just wished he didn't share Kavanaugh's frustration.

It wasn't looking good at all and he needed to make a decision as to whether or not it was worth staying and trying to figure out if Kavanaugh and Corrigan were right about needing a code to get behind that wall. He wondered if there was another cavern they could use to access it. His fingers itched to get hold of whatever the hell was producing those readings, but it wouldn't do any good whatsoever if the place were booby-trapped to prevent the Wraith from getting in. Or—an even worse thought occurred to him—if it was a setup to lure the Wraith into a booby-trap.

John was talking to Stackhouse at the edge of the plateau, but when he saw Rodney approaching, he stopped talking and frowned at Rodney's expression.

Rodney shared his chilling notion. Stackhouse looked worried, and John's frown deepened. "Is that likely?"

"How would I know? I haven't had the knowledge of the Ancients downloaded into my skull, that was O'Neill and he's a little out of reach at the moment." He scowled. "You're a military guy, what do you think?"

John considered it. "It's not impossible," he finally admitted. "But the question is, would they think it was likely? I didn't get that impression from the holograms and the library, did you?"

He felt absurdly relieved. "Not really, no."

John's expression was thoughtful. "For that matter, the Wraith have never really given a fuck about technology, so far as we can tell, they're all about the feeding. Why would the Ancients bother to lock things away from the descendants they hoped would come back?"

Hmmm. John had a point, and the only thing that had been locked up in the city had been the energy-sucking creature the Ancients had trapped. He blinked, turned on his heel, and went back to the cavern.

"Jesus," he heard Stackhouse say.

John chuckled. "He just had an idea, don't take it personally."

Perhaps he had been a bit abrupt, but what the hell. He collected John's equations, went to the cavern, and examined the wall. He was an idiot. He'd embarrassed John, wasted time having John run the equations, and now that he looked more closely, he could see the faintest sheen on the worn stone, a place in the shape of a palm print in the center of what Kavanaugh supposed was the place to enter a code.

He put his palm on it; not at all sure it would work, despite Carson's gene therapy. It lit up brightly and there was a huge and horrifying grinding noise as the wall began to slide sideways.

He stepped back hastily, alarmed and exhilarated at the same time. John burst in with Ford on his heels and stopped dead. Ford nearly knocked him down at the sudden stop. "Whoa."

The wall slid slowly open.

He looked at John and Ford, and they looked back as the others piled into a space that suddenly wasn't as small as it had been.

"What did you do?" John asked.

"I took a closer look." He felt gleeful and unutterably foolish at the same time. "I guess the primes weren't necessary."

John's eyes narrowed briefly. "Well, hell."

He shrugged, faintly apologetic and turned back to look at the lights coming on in the darkness where the wall had been. "Wow."

"I'll say." Ford's tone was amazed.

Rodney started forward.

"Ah, ah, ah!" John raised a hand. "Hold your horses, please."

"You can't be serious!" Rodney arched an eyebrow. "You can't really believe there's anybody in there."

"I'd hate for you to find out the hard way," John told him quellingly. "Ford, get my P-90, we're going to check it out."

Ford nodded and left.

Kavanaugh made an irritated sound, but shut up when John gave him a long, level look.

Rodney folded his arms and sighed. "Fine."

Quirky little grin. "That's why they pay me, Rodney."

"Do they pay you?" he asked snarkily, and was even more annoyed when John winked.

Ford returned with both weapons, and John took his, led the way in. Rodney followed Ford in spite of Ford's roll of the eyes, and in they went. It appeared to be a lab, nothing more, nothing less, and he was feeling seriously acquisitive before they got through the first room. Several rooms later, he was ecstatic to see what appeared to be the component parts of a ZPM.

"Should you be touching that?" John asked, coming back from the last room. "I think that's it, you guys are good to go, knock yourselves out."

"Look at it," Rodney said reverently. "If we can determine how the Ancients managed to generate and seal vacuum around the self-contained region of, well" He remembered who he was talking to. "Anyway, if we could build our own ZPM…."

John blinked. "Our worries would be over."

"At least," he agreed and sighed. "One step at a time."

John smiled at him, the one he usually only saw in private. "Have at it, Rodney. I'll send everybody in."

He was rocked for a moment. "Yeah, thanks." He nearly reached out to touch John, but Ford came in.

"All clear, Major."

"Let's let 'em in, Ford," John said and turned to go.

He felt oddly off balance, but reality was the treasure trove before him. He lost himself in the exploration and the ideas and the arguments when the others came in, and forgot that odd loss of equilibrium until he finally gave in for the night and went to his tent.

John was already asleep, tucked neatly without sprawling into one side of the still zipped together sleeping bag. Beard stubble, messy hair, and long johns, and Rodney felt something tighten in his chest. The man really was indecently vulnerable sometimes, and he couldn't stand it, he took off his boots, knelt on the sleeping bag, and brushed his mouth just behind John's ear.

John woke between one breath and another and stiffened for an instant before his body went lax again. "Mmmm." Sleepy sound.

Rodney kissed him again. "I suppose I'm lucky you didn't break my nose."

Soft sound, not quite a chuckle. "I was dreaming, sorry."

"Badly?" He shifted to lie beside John, his chin pillowed on his arms.

John shifted to nuzzle, sighed. "Dunno. It was odd, anyway. All very symbolic and Jungian."

"Jungian," Rodney repeated and grinned. "You sure it wasn't Freudian?"

John grinned back, just having fun. "No snakes."

"Sometimes, a cigar is only a cigar, Major," Rodney told him and they both grinned again.

"And sometimes, it's not," John said and licked his earlobe.

"Don't start anything you can't finish," he murmured.

"Come to bed," John murmured back. "I'm cold."

They couldn't have that, Rodney thought and stripped out of his outer clothes, climbed inside the sleeping bag. "You aren't cold," he told John, amused, and edged closer. "You're nice and warm."

"I'm like that," John murmured and slid down in the sleeping bag, putting his hands beneath the waistband of Rodney's long underwear. He hissed in pleased surprise, closed his eyes when John's mouth grazed his lower belly.

This was not a good idea, and he couldn't believe John was doing it, he couldn't believe he was letting John do it, and dear God, that warm, wet mouth, teasing him to full hardness. He bit his lip, rubbed the back of John's neck encouragingly, swallowed a groan as his cock swelled against John's tongue and lips. He hadn't had this much sex since, God, since ever, he didn't think he'd ever had this much sex, and the sex was the least of it, the intimacy was going to be the death of him, the odd sweetness and artless hunger was going to ruin him completely.

The enforced silence made his orgasm that much more intense, and he bit down hard on the heel of his hand to keep from making any sounds. John gentled then, kissing his belly, and moving back up to kiss his mouth. He pushed John onto his back, kissed him back with sudden desperation, kissed him again and again until John was clutching at his arms and arching up against him with equal desperation. It was insane, but he reached under John's waistband, stroked and pulled and took John's gasps into his own mouth, until he couldn't stand it any more and just went down on him, taking John's cock into his mouth and throat until John arched up hard and came, gasping almost soundlessly, hands clenched in the sleeping bag.

When he shifted up, John clutched at him, almost blindly, burrowed into his chest, and that was both touching and alarming, because he could feel John's pulse racing. He nuzzled and held on, and John's breathing steadied, John's pulse slowed.

After a time, John sighed against him. "Bastard, you nearly killed me."

He couldn't help smirking at that. "It's not my fault you have no understanding of the word discreet."

John bit his nipple through his shirt, and he nearly yelped, settled for laughing and pinching John's ass instead.

John snickered into his throat and leaned back. "You're going to spoil the hell out of me, Rodney, and then what are you going to do?"

"Reap the whirlwind, no doubt," he said and kissed John, just because he could.

"At least." John shifted and he did, and then he was spooned around John's longer body, his hand on John's bare stomach. John mumbled something and he leaned in closer. "…so much trouble, Rodney."

"I am?"

John muttered again, raised his head. "What?"

"I'm in trouble?"

John put his head down again, sighed. "I am. Who knew I'd find a snarky physicist fucking irresistible."

Startled, he raised his head, swallowed hard after a moment, and kissed the nape of John's neck. "Irresistible, my ass."

John put a hand over his, made a soft sound. "That's next."

He was so not going to think about that, not out here where there wasn't a damned thing to be done about it, short of pointless arousal and molesting John in his sleep. "Promises," he murmured and closed his eyes.

And when John slept, so did he.


	10. Chapter 10

After two days, Elizabeth's nerve broke and she rather firmly suggested they bring everything portable back to Atlantis. As they had, by that time, managed to catalogue most of the contents of the lab, Rodney agreed without protest. Besides, John was looking a little peaked, subsisting on MREs without any of the whole foods that Carson had pronounced helpful, and that worried him. It worried him a lot more than he wanted to admit, even to himself.

Elizabeth met them in the bay, and her eyes went first to John, who was helping unload the jumper, and then to Rodney, who nodded fractionally and went over to take John's place. "Go get something to eat," he murmured and held John's gaze for a moment. "Really."

John glanced over at Elizabeth and sighed. "I'm okay, Rodney."

"Yeah, but you're not great."

After a moment, John nodded. "Okay, but I'm not going to the infirmary, I don't care who wants me to."

"I don't want you in the infirmary." He held John's gaze for a moment. "Go get something to eat that you can eat."

Another sigh and John went, not without a dark look backward.

"When did you get to be such good friends with Sheppard?" Kavanaugh asked irritably.

"It happens," he muttered. "Come on, lift that end, will you?"

"He's just another bad attitude military prick," Kavanaugh said.

He gritted his teeth. "Actually, Sumner was just another bad attitude military prick. Sheppard's actually saved our lives more than a few times, in case you've forgotten. Now lift that end, dammit."

Kavanaugh looked at him with dislike, but lifted.

It was nearly three hours before he could break free and report to Elizabeth, who was in her office with Carson, her expression somber.

He knocked on the doorjamb. "This doesn't look good."

Carson looked at him, looked away. "Well, it isna so bad as it could be," he said quietly. "But in three days, the levels of the compound in John's blood have risen."

He had guessed it, but hearing it confirmed made his gut knot. "How much?"

"He's not in immediate danger, Rodney." Elizabeth sighed. "It's just—I'd hoped that it was taking care of itself."

"Yeah," he said and his throat was dry suddenly. "So did I."

"At any rate, I had to quarrel with him to get the blood drawn, and he was less than happy over the results."

"I can't blame him," Rodney said. "Elizabeth, I've sent you the inventory, if you'll excuse me."

She nodded at him, and he knew she saw too much. So, undoubtedly, did Carson. "You've worked hard, Rodney, take some time."

Right. He went to his own quarters first, showered, and changed his clothes. He joined his colleagues in the dining hall for some real food, but found he had little appetite, collected some of Halling's wonder bread and something very like cheese and took it to John's quarters. At first, there was no answer, but then the door opened, and John stood there, disheveled, and half-dressed. "Come on in," John said quietly and went over to sit on the bed, his elbows on his knees.

Rodney sighed and put the plate on John's desk, went to sit beside him. "I would have been here a while ago, but I'm a bastard."

"I guess Carson told you. So much for doctor/patient confidentiality." John's tone was light.

"It wasn't anything I didn't suspect. He said you were upset about it."

John sank back on the bed, stared at the ceiling. "I was pissed."

Rodney nodded. "Yeah, well, after that, I wasn't entirely sure you wouldn't want some time to yourself after three days of living in a crowd."

John looked at him. "You're not a crowd, Rodney." Quietly and he shrugged. "Besides, you forget, I was at McMurdo."

He put his hand on John's thigh, rubbed it. "Kavanaugh wasn't there."

John snorted. "He's such an asshole, I don't know how you put up with him."

"He's brilliant. Not as brilliant as he thinks he is, but brilliant."

John's fingers rested on the back of his hand. "Rodney, if you wanna bail, I don't blame you. I might never get better, even if we get back to Earth. Carson's one of the best, if he can't figure this thing out…" He shrugged lying down.

He looked at John for a long moment. Funny, was that what he wanted to do? He didn't think so, although he was still half-terrified of feeling so goddamn much that seeing John's eyes right now was breaking his heart. "John, try not to be an asshole." Gently.

John looked back at the ceiling.

Feeling as if he were on thin ice and edging toward even thinner, Rodney lifted John's hand, kissed the palm. "How many people do you think there have ever been with enough brass to tell me I'm irresistible? How can I resist that?"

John's fingertips touched his mouth. "Stay here with me." Very softly.

He smiled. "That's why I'm here." He stretched out beside John. "You look tired."

John smiled. "I am, a little. I, uh, took a run through the city after Carson told me."

He nodded. "So take a nap. I'm not going anywhere." He smiled suddenly. "If Mersennes primes didn't scare me, neither will this."

He rather thought John's eyes were a little bright, but he pretended not to notice it. Instead, he shifted and tugged a blanket over John, whose smile was just a trace, just the ghost of a smile. But it was the happy smile, the smile he saw when they were joking about things, when John was relaxed, and that was good enough for him.

For the moment, at least.

 

The problem with finding treasure troves of technology was the need to go back to the scientific equivalent of kindergarten. He might know he was brilliant, but that didn't mean he was careless, and Kavanaugh was stubbornly intent on trying to generate a field before they knew what they were doing. Zelenka had his own ideas, and it was barely midday before he was embroiled in a full departmental brouhaha over the correct protocols and procedures.

Somehow, he managed to wade his way through it without a) being murdered or b) murdering anyone else, with Simpson and Zelenka backing him up. It left him with one of the headaches he tended to get when he had to deal with bureaucrats, which made him worry he was becoming one, and he was on his way back to his own office when John waylaid him.

"Hey, what's going on with Kavanaugh? He and Elizabeth just had a shouting match."

"He just lost a round of departmental infighting." Rodney shook his head. "Can you spell reckless? I knew you could."

John eyed him critically. "You're a little pale."

"I get that way when I get trapped into dealing with these things," Rodney snapped. "And when my blood sugar is about this far from dropping like a stone."

"Wow, that bad?" John raised his eyebrows. "Stackhouse and Markham and their crew just got back from a visit to a friendly world, and boy, do I have a surprise for you."

"Did you hear me?" Rodney frowned at him. "Blood sugar? Rock bottom? Hypoglycemia?"

John shrugged, his eyes alight with mischief. "You know how Carson's got them bringing back every single sort of edible to test for the whatsis that counters what's making me sick, right?"

"Yes." He studied John suspiciously. "So?"

"So, they brought something new back. Something really, really, really cool."

"Cool food?" He didn't think he'd ever seen John enthused about food since the popcorn had been eaten. "In what way?"

John grinned. "Close your eyes."

He rolled them instead. "John."

John put a hand on each of his shoulders. "Just stop here, and close your eyes. You trust me, right?"

"I'm not sure if I trust you with food," Rodney grumbled, but did.

"Okay, open your mouth."

He took a moment to wonder what this would look like to any of John's military colleagues before obeying. He tasted briefly the faintest trace of salt from John's fingertip and then something sweet and rich and God help him, he missed processed sugar, this was—his eyes flew open as his mouth closed. "Mmmhh?"

John's smile was all playful delight. "What do you think?"

It tasted a little like chocolate and a lot like coffee and a lot like sugar. "Mmmmhmmm," he agreed emphatically and let the sweetness melt on his tongue. "Oh, my God, what is it?"

"It's a major trade item, some kind of bean or berry, I didn't catch which, and they use it to make sweets of various kinds, and also what Teyla would call a stout tea." John's smile got bigger. "And that stout tea tastes a lot like what we'd call coffee. A kind of mocha flavored coffee."

Coffee. He wanted to whimper. "How much can we get and how soon can we get it?"

"This is the best part," John told him, laughing. "It's chock full of whatever it is that works on keeping levels of the toxin down and it's prescribed now for me. Play your cards right, genius, you've got a pipeline to the good stuff."

Rodney couldn't help laughing, John was so damn delighted. "So, do I get to lick it off you?"

John flushed, but laughed again. "What do you think? I'm counting on it."

Quick look around and he backed John into an alcove, kissing him, pressing his body hard against John's. Sweet, sweet kiss in the literal sense; John had eaten some of it, too. He wondered briefly if this stuff was an intoxicant, and then found he didn't care. John's mouth moved to his throat and he put his hands on John's ass. "Uh, John. Public, we're in public."

"You started it, and besides, now I'm horny," John murmured.

"Everything makes you horny." Not that he was complaining. "Sunrise makes you horny."

John laughed against his skin. "Sunset."

"Starlight." He was getting pretty horny himself, and John's hand slipped under his shirt in back. "Seriously, public!"

"You're no fun." John drew back smiling, though. "Your quarters are closer."

He couldn't help laughing. "It's the middle of the day."

"Afternoon delight." John smoldered at him.

John smoldering was hard to resist. It would certainly take a stronger man than he was to resist, at any rate, and he already knew that he lacked moral fiber.

They ended up back in his quarters with the sunshine slanting across the bed, a slow and leisurely fuck as if they had all the time in the world, John's legs over his shoulders, his hand on John's cock and he loved watching John's face when he came, loved that moment of ecstatic, effortful release, the way John's eyes would widen and then close tightly, and he could never watch long enough, it always tipped him over the edge

And where he would have once rushed to pull away, he wouldn't, couldn't do that any more because John was languid and funny and too delicious to pull away; he didn't want to get out of bed and shower and get dressed when he could lie practically on top of him and rub his palm over John's chest in circles, watching the dark, almost silky hair whirl with each circle.

Of course, he didn't think John would actually let him do that, let him get up and take a shower and get dressed, because John's habit was to hook a leg over his or put an arm around his waist. And that was an odd and almost surreal thing, even after all these weeks, but he was not only getting used to it, he'd gotten to the point where he luxuriated in it.

So. So he stayed, stretched out on his side in the bright sunlight that spilled across the room and breathed in the scent of sex and John and himself. Lazy kisses, not much talking, and he noticed the pale line of a scar John's hip that he hadn't noticed before. "What's this?" Idly, rubbing his thumb over it.

"Shrapnel." John's eyes were half-closed. "Afghanistan." His mouth curved. "Just a flesh wound."

"That is without a doubt the stupidest phrase I've ever heard, and that's saying a great deal." He rubbed the scar again, felt John quake with silent laughter. "Well, it is."

"Tell me!" John smiled at him. "Except really, it was, no bones shattered." His smile dimmed. "At least, not for me."

He couldn't think of a thing to say to that, so he kept his mouth shut, settled for kissing the point of John's shoulder. "And this?" Faint, faint line behind the spot he'd kissed.

John looked, frowning faintly for a moment. "Oh, jeez, that's ancient. My cousin shot me with a pellet gun when I was about three or four."

He was appalled. "Good lord!"

John grinned. "Not as bad as it sounds. I got a couple of stitches, that's all, it sort of glanced off, and then he got the spanking of his life. I don't even remember it, myself, just stories about it. Kid stuff, that's all."

Rodney shook his head. "Kid stuff? Let me tell you, no other kids I knew shot anybody or got shot with a pellet gun."

"You were Canadian." John's mouth twitched.

He rolled his eyes. "In fact, now I think about it, I really never had any major accidents as a kid. Too careful, I guess. Although I did, allegedly, fall down the stairs when I was a toddler, spent a week unconscious." He was amused when John's eyes widened, less amused when John leaned up on his elbows, and frowned.

"You fell down the stairs? With help or without?"

He frowned back. "With—no, no, no, my parents hated each other, not me. They just blamed me for their misery, John, they didn't—" He waved vaguely and touched the tip of John's nose. "Don't get indignant for nothing, I was one of those hyper toddlers, climbed out of my crib and got into trouble all the time. It's one of the main reasons I've never had the slightest urge to reproduce; it would be a nightmare." He sighed. "I did used to wonder if maybe they'd gotten married because I was on the way, but when I was twelve, I broke into my father's filing cabinet and found their marriage certificate, and they'd been married a year and a half when I was born, so that wasn't it."

John smiled faintly. "You broke into your father's filing cabinet?"

He couldn't help returning that smile. "Yes. Well, I was convinced that I was adopted, you know, the usual psychological rationalization, these weren't really my parents, my real parents were out there somewhere. Unfortunately, my birth certificate was there, too, so I had to give that fantasy up."

John winced. "Ouch."

"It was kind of a difficult time," Rodney said, remembering. "I'd just given up music, and I think I was feeling a little desperate."

"Music?" John's expression was interested.

He shrugged, a little embarrassed, and remembered telling Samantha Carter the same story. "I wanted to be a pianist. I was always very good technically, not so good artistically."

"Who told you that?" A faint line appeared between John's eyebrows.

"My instructor." Rodney shrugged. "So I stopped."

That line deepened. "That fucker."

Startled, he looked at John directly, saw real temper. "Hey, that was a long time ago, and really, he was right."

John put a hand around his neck, pulled him down, and kissed him hard. "He was still an asshole. He sucked all the joy out of it for you."

He was touched, ridiculously so. "I was using it as an escape." He could still remember the need, the cold silences, and stillness in that house when both his parents were home, their utter lack of comprehension with their changeling son, their disdain with his interests. "I haven't played since, God—graduate school, I ran out of grant money early and played in a piano bar for three months for my bread and butter. I was good enough for that."

"He was still an asshole." Stubbornly.

He smiled, kissed the corner of John's mouth gently, wondering who had robbed John of his own joy in something. He wondered if that something had been John's brilliance in mathematics. "Well, being the oldest child in that house was tough, but here I am."

John smiled. "There is that. I was sort of an only child, but not really."

He arched his eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

A crooked grin. "I had a half-brother and two half-sisters, my dad's first marriage. My brother got killed in Vietnam right around the time I was born, and let's just say my dad's first wife wasn't letting her kids associate too much with the little bastard from his second marriage. She did eventually, but hell, by that time, my sisters were adults, and we never did get too close."

Rodney wondered if John's father had placed all the weight of his expectations on John once his older brother was dead, but it didn't seem decent, somehow, to ask outright. "How old was your brother when he died?"

"Nineteen." John went somber for a moment, sighed. "He flunked out of college, joined the Marines to spite the old man. Gives a new meaning to the whole cut off your nose thing. About the time I graduated from high school, I found a picture of him and it really was kind of spooky. You could definitely tell we were brothers." He rolled up on to his side, nose to nose with Rodney. "And why are we talking about my weird childhood?"

"Turnabout, we were talking about mine."

John's mouth brushed his very lightly. "Well, let's be done."

He couldn't object to that, not when his own memories were less than enjoyable. "I really ought to get back to work," he sighed, thinking of the research, the reports, and the puzzles he needed to solve.

"Me, too." John sighed. "Besides, I need a haircut."

"And this is new?" He tugged at a lock of John's improbable hair.

"Hey, don't diss my hair, Rodney. You're starting to get a little shaggy yourself, you know. Gettin' a little wavy there at the back."

He snorted, pushed himself upright. "I thought you said nobody brought a Flowbee."

John rolled his eyes, poked Rodney's ribs with his index finger. "Oh, funny. Ford's got clippers and scissors."

"And you're going to let him use them?" He considered retribution, but felt too satisfied to bother. Instead, he carded John's hair with his fingers. "Don't get carried away, I kind of like the way it stands on end."

John snorted. "Elizabeth offered to trim it the other day, I figure she was trying to tell me something. Besides, Carson wants to test it."

"Your haircut?"

"My hair, Rodney." John rolled out of bed and stretched. "Focus."

Oh. He got up, goosed John as he went by. "Focusing," he said lightly, then, "Why does he want to test your hair?"

John reached for his pants. "Rodney, he's tested it before. He's just trying to keep track of the whole—" Vague gesture and a mordant smile. "I'm still here, quit your worrying."

He hadn't known that, found it vaguely unsettling. "You never said."

John shrugged, pulled his pants up. "I guess it's pretty standard when heavy metal poisoning is suspected, and he wasn't sure at first." Faint smile. "Hell, I don't think he's sure yet."

Maybe not. But for all his personal view of medicine, there was no denying the fact that Carson was brilliant; he could just be kidding himself, but he really did believe Carson would figure this out. "You know," he said, "He will figure it out."

John smiled at him. "Yeah, I know." He zipped his pants, buttoned them. "Hey, I forgot to tell you, Elizabeth's cleared me for limited offworld missions."

"Limited how?" Rodney picked up his clothes. "Sure you don't want to shower with me?"

John rolled his eyes. "Scientific trips only. That woman is driving me nuts, she acts like I'm going to keel over if I stay out in the rain or something. And if I shower with you, I'm not sure we'll get back to work at all, Rodney."

"Well, you're her right hand," Rodney said reasonably, and, "You obviously have some exaggerated notions about my recovery time."

John grinned. "I'm more like her left hand, you're her right, and no, I don't." He winked, pulled his shirt on.

He couldn't help laughing at that. "Scientific trips are better than nothing, and yes, you do."

John took at step toward him, leaning in for a quick kiss. "No, I don't, and yeah, I agree. So take a look at that list you were making, let's get off-world."

He reached, grabbed the front of John's shirt, and pulled him in for another kiss. "Off-world it is. Go get your haircut."

John hugged him suddenly, hard and close. "Yeah, I will. Try to stay out of trouble."

"What kind of trouble can I get into in the shower?"

John drew back and grinned. "Alone, probably none, but I meant dealing with Kavanaugh."

"Ah." There was that. "I'll certainly do my best. You know I avoid trouble."

"Sure you do." John winked, picked up his socks and boots, and went back to the bed. "Just like me."

He took John's smile into the shower with him and emerged feeling like he might be able to deal rationally with even Kavanaugh. Which wasn't entirely fair, he knew people thought the same thing about him, and he kept reminding himself of that to keep from braining Kavanaugh with a laptop.

Back in his office, he went through his latest extractions from the Ancients database of addresses and correlated them with the most recent MALP test runs. By the time the early winter evening had descended on the city, he had two possibilities in mind for John's off-world trip.

He headed toward the dining hall because of the hour, passed through the common recreational area on his way, and stopped dead at the sound of John's voice. "Jesus, Ford, what did you do to me?"

"Here," he heard Teyla say, "Give me those, it just needs a bit of evening up."

He went around the pillar and found John perched on a stool with what looked like a sheet wrapped around his shoulders, Teyla standing next to him with scissors in one hand and a mirror in the other

John's hair was clipped close at the back and sides, and shorter and spikier on top. It accentuated the weight he'd lost, and Rodney was freshly and unpleasantly reminded of disastrous potentials.

"You said you wanted it shorter, sir." Ford was trying not to laugh. Markham, standing nearby, wasn't even trying.

"I'm not a Marine, I'm Air Force," John complained. "I get to keep some of my hair."

"It will grow back," Teyla said mildly and gave the mirror to John. "Actually, it is not very much different than when we first met."

Ford lost his battle with laughter. "It is a little spiky in places, sir, I was going for the same look, but shorter." He handed a comb to Teyla.

John glanced up and saw Rodney. "What?"

Rodney swallowed hard. "It's definitely shorter."

John's expression was worried. "It's not that bad, is it?"

Teyla combed and snipped. "No, it is not." Firmly. "Although I do not understand this regulation. Many warriors wear their hair braided in order to keep it from becoming a hindrance."

Markham burst out laughing. "Sorry, Teyla, it's just sort of hard to imagine Lieutenant Ford in braids."

"Hey," Ford said, his tone good-humoured. "I wouldn't have braids, I'd have dreads."

Markham laughed again.

John was watching him. He managed a smile. "I think I'd forgotten what your face looked like."

"Oh, thanks." But John's tone was relieved.

Teyla combed and snipped a few more times. "There, Major. I think that's better."

"It's still awfully short," John complained and looked over his shoulder at Ford, who grinned. "Boy, when we get back to Earth, your performance review's going to have a big black mark for scalping your commanding officer."

Teyla tilted her head. "It is not so bad," she said and grinned at Rodney. "Dr. McKay is right, it is a pleasant change to see your eyes."

"I rest my case," Rodney said.

"It wasn't that long." John looked in the mirror again and sighed. "Well, what the hell, I won't need another trim for a while. Thank you, Lieutenant. What are you up to?" he asked Rodney and gave the mirror back to Teyla.

"Going to speak to Dr. Weir about a research trip," Rodney told him. "Since you're cleared for flight, maybe you should come along."

"Good thinking." John got up and engaged in a brief struggle with the sheet, while Teyla tried to get it under control. "Thanks, Teyla."

"You're most welcome," she said, rather tartly, and yanked the sheet away from him. "There."

"I think I got some down the back of my shirt." John brushed vainly at the back of his neck, gave it up, and just plucked at his shirt while Ford used a brush on him.

"You're worse than the little kids, Major," Ford chided. "They sit still at least."

"You do this to the Athosian kids?"

Teyla laughed softly. "Not nearly as spiky or short."

"They aren't military," Ford explained.

John rolled his eyes. "Okay, okay, I get it."

"Dr. McKay? Chair's open?" Ford waved the clippers meaningfully.

"Ah, no, thank you, but I might let Teyla trim the back later if she wouldn't mind," he told Ford.

She smiled at him. "You are not military, McKay, I think you should leave yours alone."

"Gee, thanks." John finished shaking himself off and picked up his jacket. "Dr. Weir, right?"

"Absolutely."

"I hope it's not winter on the planet you have in mind," Ford said. "Can we do some nice tropical planet in the middle of summer, nice long sandy beaches, hot sun?"

"Sorry, I think the two potentials are headed in or out of winter, Lieutenant." Rodney turned back toward the dining hall. "Did you eat anything yet?"

"I could eat," John agreed. "You?"

"Definitely." Rodney bit back a smile as John smoothed the hair on the back of his head. "It doesn't look bad."

"It just feels weird." Sheepish look. "Really? It looks okay?"

"John," he said tartly, "If you haven't already figured out that I'd think you looked okay with a buzz cut or bald or with hair down past your ass, you obviously need to focus more."

John flushed, but it was obviously with pleasure. "Oh. Well. Thanks."

He sighed inwardly. Guys like John weren't supposed to be insecure about their looks. John wasn't supposed to be insecure about his looks. The universe was far stranger than he'd known before he'd started taking other people's psyches into account. "Of course, it does make your nose look a little pointier."

John looked at him startled. "My nose isn't pointy."

"Well, actually it is," Rodney told him, "But not unattractively pointy."

John's hand came up to rub the tip of his nose. "You're yanking my chain."

He let himself smirk a bit. "No, really, it is."

Dark look. "Now you're hurting my feelings."

"It's not unattractive."

"It's not pointy."

He smirked again. "Of course not. You're right, I'm yanking your chain."

"I knew it." John's tone was slightly doubtful.

"You were right."

Elizabeth was sitting with Carson in the dining hall; when they approached, she did a classic double take at John's haircut, which made Rodney chuckle.

John went scarlet, but tried for dignified.

Elizabeth coughed. "Uh, wow, Carson said you were getting a haircut, but I had no idea."

"I know, I know, Ford got a little carried away." John put his tray down on the table across from Carson and sat down. "You told me I'm only cleared for scientific research trips, and Rodney just happens to have a couple of possibilities."

Her mouth quirked and she looked at Rodney. "Is that right?"

"Two," he said and sat down next to John, lifted the printouts from his tray and handed them over. "The MALP readings for these two addresses have some interesting possibilities."

She accepted them, read a bit of the first and then the second. "Any preference?"

Rodney glanced up from examining a bite of God only knew what. "Hmm?"

"It's stew," John muttered.

He looked back at his fork. "Oh. Ah, no, not really. They're both equally interesting for different reasons. See, the second sheet, those readings could be indicative of a technological energy source, but the first, now, that's interesting because what I'm seeing is a trace reading that is strongly reminiscent of naquadah. Not that it's necessarily naquadah, I mean, we're in an entirely different galaxy, but even if it's not, it has potential for us in terms of power sources." He pointed with his fork at the papers she held. "So either one."

She looked sidelong at Carson. "Carson."

"The second site," Carson nodded at Elizabeth. "I think I'd rather not expose the Major to any potential radiation risk."

"Good point."

John scowled at his plate. "Don't you think that's overreacting a little? I mean, strictly speaking, standing out in the sun puts me at risk."

"There is that, yes," Carson agreed mildly. "But if I'm not mistaken, your kit contains sunscreen, so I worry less about that."

Rodney wisely put a bite of stew in his mouth instead of saying anything.

Elizabeth's mouth twitched. "Let's just play it safe, shall we? Go have a look for technology and/or civilization."

"Fine with me." John sounded a little sour, but not entirely unhappy. "Tomorrow?"

"What's the time difference?" Elizabeth asked.

Rodney swallowed. "Six hours ahead, give or take a few minutes. If we leave in the morning, we'll still have a few hours to investigate."

"Well, then, in the morning, we'll have a briefing, and you can go." Elizabeth put the printouts down and picked up her cup for a sip.

"I can't wait," John muttered and dug into his stew.

"Good." Elizabeth put the cup on her tray, picked up her tray and rose. "In that case, good night, and I'll plan on seeing you all at oh-seven hundred."

Rodney nodded, glanced sidelong at John, and decided that he was definitely going to have to divert John from the whole over-protective thing Carson and Elizabeth had going. He was just grateful he didn't have to do it, particularly since John had never reacted well to his pessimism.

His occasional burst of optimism, that generally got a different reaction. He could test that theory tonight.


	11. Chapter 11

John was staring at his nose in the mirror when Rodney arrived in John's quarters.

"What are you doing?" Rodney asked, amused.

"Looking at my nose. It is kinda pointed. Why didn't I ever notice that before?"

"I brought you a surprise," Rodney said, opting for diversion.

"Is it as good as the surprise I brought you this morning?" John turned his head to examine his profile, winced, and looked away from the mirror. "My hair's too short and I have a pointed nose."

"You're a lunatic," Rodney told him and pulled out the surprise, wrapped in plastic wrap. He put it down on the bedside table. "Gerrold, down in Botany, she made, ah, brownies, although they're more mock-brownies, of course."

"Brownies." John rubbed the tip of his nose.

"Brownies," Rodney agreed and took off his jacket, took it over to the alcove John used as a closet and hung it on a hook. "Now, you know, Gerrold's crew is a little, ah, nonconformist." He looked around to find John eating a piece of the not-brownie. "Hey, wait a minute." A big piece.

John blinked at him and took another bite to finish the chunk, licked the crumbs off his thumb. "What? I left you some."

He couldn't help himself, he started to laugh. "They're cultivating pot in back of the lab."

John looked at his fingers and then at him, eyes wide. "Rodney."

"Yes, exactly." He came back to find less than half left and kept laughing. "Oops."

John looked at him, alarmed. "Are you telling me—"

He sat down on the edge of the bed. "Yes, I am. That's what you get for not waiting until I told you."

"You gave me pot!?" John closed his eyes. "Oh, we are so fucked if Elizabeth finds out about this."

"It's just a little," Rodney smirked. "I didn't tell anyone when I found the plant, so Gerrold gave me some as, ah, sort of a thank you."

"I'm glad we don't have random drug testing here." John reflectively licked his fingertip. "It was good, too, dammit. There goes my flight time tomorrow."

Rodney snorted. "Oh, don't be ridiculous, you never went to the officer's club the night before you flew?"

John considered the remaining piece sadly. "Well, yeah, but this isn't alcohol."

"It's an intoxicant."

"Alcohol metabolizes quicker." John sat down on the bed, his expression glum.

"John, there's not that much in it, you'll be fine." He kissed the corner of John's mouth, still laughing, tasted the sweetness from the not-brownie. "And if it makes you feel better, I won't indulge, so if necessary, I can fly."

"I can't believe they're growing pot in the botany," John marveled. "I'm supposed to know these things."

"They had a still at McMurdo," Rodney pointed out. "Did you know that?"

"Why the hell did they have a still at McMurdo? You could bring booze in."

"You innocent," Rodney told him, laughing again. "Because they could and it's a way to flip off the military establishment."

John looked at the rest of the not-brownie. "What the hell, it was good."

"Live dangerously," he advised and leaned down to untie his boots. They'd been doing this long enough, he realized, that he left things of his in John's quarters, and John left things of his in Rodney's. This was probably the longest relationship he'd had in years, and even if that was a little frightening, it was also pretty amazing. Relationship was a scary word, but he tested it in his head. He knew where John kept his dental floss; John knew where Rodney's toothpaste was. "You know, if I'm abstaining, you can have the rest."

John sighed and surrendered, snicker snack, two bites and it was gone. "I miss brownies."

"I thought you missed beer, football and Ferris wheels."

"Those, too." John was already barefoot, and when he leaned back, Rodney saw his pants were unbuttoned, though still zipped, and there was that tantalizing inch or so of bare skin indented by John's navel, the line of dark hair he liked to follow with his fingertips or tongue. "So now that you've plied me with spiked brownies, you gonna take advantage of me?"

"I prefer to think of it as showing you a good time," Rodney said and shifted to put his hand under John's shirt, to rub his thumb around the cup of John's navel. "Not taking advantage of you."

"Either way, I'm good with it." John let himself fall back on the bed and closed his fingers around Rodney's arm to tug him down. "That's better."

He kissed John's mouth, licked his way into a nice, messy, affectionate not-brownie kiss. "You got a little ahead of me, I was going to warn you."

John grimaced. "Won't kill me, it's just a little—I can't believe they're growing pot in the botany lab."

He chuckled. "You said that already. If it makes you feel any better, I did mention it to Elizabeth, and it's only one plant. Recreational use only."

John frowned. "She didn't say anything to me."

"She's a civilian, John."

John's frown deepened. "So?"

"So she doesn't report to you." He kept his tone mild. "And you're military, not law enforcement."

"You don't get it. Ever since I got sick, she's—" Frustration and John put an arm over his eyes.

Ah. "This was before you got sick. I expect she'd probably already dealt with it."

John lifted his arm again. "I can do my job," he said irritably. "She doesn't seem to get that."

"She does, John." He said it quietly. "But we're a long way from home and we can't afFord to lose you." He'd just said too much, he thought and tried a smile.

John heard him anyway, touched his mouth. "I don't plan on being lost."

"We don't plan on losing you," he muttered and started pushing John's shirt up.

"Good." John's fingertips strayed to his hair. "Jesus, I think I'm feeling buzzed already."

"Lightweight," he said and laughed at John's scowl, laughed and slid his hand farther under John's shirt to tweak his nipple lightly. John's eyes went slightly unfocused then, and he loved that, laughed softly, and licked the hollow of John's throat. "You can't be feeling it already, I don't think."

"I think I am," John murmured and curved his hand against the back of Rodney's skull. "That feels good."

He smiled, licked the ridge of bone up to the crook of John's neck, and sucked on the soft flesh just under John's ear.

"Rodney," John sighed and wrapped an arm around his waist. "Jesus, you feel good, you always feel so fucking good, you always do."

On the other hand, John did sound a little buzzed, he thought and drew back to smile down at him. "You feel pretty good yourself."

John shifted his hand to Rodney's face, cupped his cheek. "Just, I know it's nuts, just don't get tired of me, I'd really, really hate that."

Startled, he drew back further. "What? Jesus, John, where did that come from."

John looked a little startled, too, but mostly mortified. "Um. I dunno. Just sorta popped out. Just, uh, forget I said that."

"You can be an idiot at times," he said, suddenly irritated. "You're far more likely to get tired of me, you know."

John surged up under him and rolled them both over. "Oh, the hell. Because I'm the big dumb jock, right? Well, get this, genius, even when you drove me nuts at first, I liked you." Equally irritated.

He hung between temper and laughter for a moment. "The jock and the genius? Sounds like a porn movie title."

"I'm trying to have a serious conversation," John said and rolled away, his expression sullen.

"You're stoned," Rodney said and chose laughter. "We can't have a serious conversation when only one of us is stoned."

John held up one arm, trying vainly to free it from the sleeve. "Fine."

"If I'd known being stoned makes you cranky, I'd have eaten the damn thing myself before I got here." He sat up, took over the task, and freed John's wrist. Maybe diversion would work. "Remember Elizabeth's face when you threw me off the balcony."

John glared at him, but his mouth twitched. "She was pissed there for a minute until you got up."

"And then you told her you shot me." He pulled John's other sleeve off.

"Oh, yeah." John smiled for real. "And you kept saying you were invulnerable. Peter thought he'd broken his fingers."

"Served him right, he didn't hesitate." He tugged the shirt over John's head and tossed it, touched John's mouth with one fingertip. "Which should tell you something right there. I had to prove to you that the shield was real before you'd swing on me, remember? I don't have a lot of friends, John, that goes without saying, and I cherish the friends I do have. At least one more than others," he added, feeling unutterably awkward and exposed and a little panicked.

John thought that over. "Cool." He took hold of Rodney's shirt and pulled him down into another messy, affectionate kiss that blurred the edge of panic and slowed his pulse. No desperation, no weirdness, just John and John was right about one thing, this always felt pretty amazing, and maybe part of that was his lingering disbelief that it was working. On the other hand, maybe it was his growing comfort in the fact that it was, and he was not going to try to analyze it now, he was going to go with it.

Being stoned seemed to simultaneously increase John's libido and decrease his single-minded focus, and while there was nothing really wrong with the first, the latter meant that John's idea of a blow job was to hold Rodney down and work him right to the edge with lips and tongue and fingers and then stop and divert to his nipples or his mouth or even, God help them both, the inside of his elbow.  
   
"John!" he whimpered, while John's mouth investigated the inside of his elbow and began moving up his arm.   
   
"What?" John sounded distracted, and he probably was, distracted by biting the edge of Rodney's shoulder. Should he be worried about the munchies? At this point, he couldn't summon much energy for it, he was more worried about simply exploding without so getting so much as one of John's fingertips—or his own for that matter, John had already strenuously objected to that—on his dick.   
   
"Could you maybe focus a little?" he asked, but trailed off when John's mouth found his nipple. "Oh, God," he added faintly and arched up, trying vainly to get some friction going.  
   
John promptly flattened him. "Uh uh," he told Rodney gleefully. "No cheating."  
   
He groaned. "Joooooohn."  
   
John licked the hollow of his throat. "Rooooodney."  
   
He put one hand in John's hair, tugged John back up so he could rather punitively nip John's lower lip. "Do you think we could focus a little?"  
   
"Only if you fuck me." John said and bit him back. "Nice and slow." He rubbed his nose over Rodney's. "I am so stoned, Rodney. If Elizabeth finds out, I am so screwed, only not in the good way."  
   
Rodney nuzzled back. "She won't find out."  
   
"Promise?"  
   
"I promise, John." He kissed John again. "So how do you want this?"  
   
"Deep," John told him and rolled onto his back. "And slow. Did I say slow?"  
   
"You said slow." Rodney's heart rate had slowed a little, at least.  
   
John smiled sweetly at him. "Did I say I was crazy about you?"  
   
Rodney stopped in his slightly crazed search for the lube and looked at John, felt utterly undone. "No, I don't think you did."  
   
John's eyes widened. "I didn't?" Alarmed.  
   
"You did just now," Rodney told him hastily and kissed him. "And I am, too."  
   
John frowned a little. "Crazy about you?"  
   
"No, you lunatic, you."  
   
Blissful smile and John stretched. "So do me already, then."  
   
His mouth went dry and he found the lube, knelt between John's legs, and was pulled back into a messy, hungry kiss. Fortunately, he was good at multi-tasking. John's ass in his lap, John's legs over his shoulders, and he wasn't sure for a moment if he was going to last long enough to give John what he wanted, he had to think of Wraith and Goa'uld and whether or not General O'Neill was actually doing his civilian archaeologist before he could be at least mostly sure he would.

"Just, oh, fuck, that's good," John gasped. "Oh, slow, like that."

Slow. Slow was going to kill him. He wondered if it were possible for an astrophysicist with low cholesterol to die from too much good sex. He didn't think about it long, though, because dammit, John felt and tasted and felt and looked too damn good. But he moved slowly, luxuriously, stroking and kissing every bit of John he could reach, licking the salt from the hollow of John's throat and sucking on his tongue. John's body moved beneath him, hot and willing and sweet, John's cock was hard and slick in his grasp and he managed to last long enough to bring John off first, to feel John's body clench and see his back arch while slick heat pulsed over his fingertips. Then, it was white hot sensation and pleasure and God, God, God, John was so fucking beautiful.

He felt languid, once he'd caught his breath, but hilariously, John was not, although he was extraordinarily—well, the only word for it was snuggly. John wrapped himself around Rodney and licked his ear. "I'm hungry. I wish all the popcorn wasn't gone." Mournful sigh.

"Of course, you're hungry," he said, amused and resigned and still fairly tingling. "You've got the munchies."

"Munchies," John agreed and licked his ear again.

Rodney wondered if he ought to worry about being the focus of John's munchies. "But the popcorn is gone, so what else sounds good?"

John nuzzled him, rubbed the sole of his foot over the top of Rodney's. "Pastrami."

"I'm not aware that we have any in Atlantis." He ruffled the short hair at John's nape. "What about some of that candy? Do you have any of that left?"

"No." Mournful tone, and John raised his head. "Turkey sandwich."

He was sure the turkey was gone, too. "Macaroni and cheese?"

"God, no." Pushing himself upright, John considered. "Cinnamon toast."

"Cinnamon—" Well, it could have been weirder, he supposed.

"We need to raid the mess." John's eyes sparkled. "Maybe there's some more of that stuff of Halling's there."

"You don't need any more intoxicants," Rodney said, unable to keep from laughing. "I'll go make you some cinnamon toast, but you have to promise to stay here."

"I can make my own cinnamon toast," John said stubbornly.

"You don't want Elizabeth to know that you're stoned, do you?" Rodney eyed him.

"God no, I would be sooooo fucked, and not in the good way," John told him solemnly. "I don't feel that stoned, though."

"You are. Trust me." Rodney got up and found his pants. "So you stay here, I'll get the cinnamon toast, and maybe some of that not-coffee."

"We gotta remember the name of that stuff, Rodney, it sounds really dumb to call it not-coffee." John watched him get dressed.

He snickered. "It's the least of my worries." Pulling on his socks, he leaned back and kissed the tip of John's nose. "I'll be back very soon, so you just stay right here."

John tugged him back. "You're really nice to me, Rodney." Fondly, sweetly.

God. "You're really funny when you're stoned, John. And sweet."

Indignant expression. "I am so not sweet."

"Sorry, there's no denying it." Rodney kissed him again. "Of course, you're also contrary and stubborn and a smart ass, so don't worry, I won't tell anyone."

John considered that. "I guess that's okay."

"You are so stoned," he laughed and couldn't keep himself from stealing another kiss. "I'll be right back."

John flopped backward on the bed. "And I'll wait here."

God. Shaking his head and chuckling, he went out, engaging the privacy lock as he did.

Naturally, he was in the mess kitchen waiting for the toast when Elizabeth appeared looking for her own late night snack. He wondered hilariously if she had the munchies, too, but it appeared she was there for tea.

"Having a snack?" she asked, amused.

He shrugged. "Well, ah, it's for John. What do we have in the way of sugar, Elizabeth? Somehow, I don't think cinnamon toast works without sugar."

Both her eyebrows rose. "Oh. Hmm. I think we got something for sweetener from the Eltai. Let me check the storeroom."

He nodded absently, retrieved the toasted bread, and took care of the spread.

The cinnamon wasn't hard to find and Elizabeth came back with a small cup of something that really did resemble turbinado sugar. "Here you go, this should be more than enough for the toast and my tea."

"Thank you," he told her.

"Is John feeling all right?" Her tone was tentative.

He felt his face heat up a bit. "He's fine, just sleepy. And his appetite is chancy enough, I figured I'd do the honors."

She smiled at him, went to fill an electric kettle with water. "Would you like some tea, too?"

"No, I've got juice for him, thanks, and a bottle of water for me."

"Rodney," she said, "I don't want to be invasive, but I wanted to let you know that I appreciate very much that you've…helped keep John level-headed over these medical issues."

For some reason, that unsettled him. "John's pretty level-headed, Elizabeth. He's been frustrated, that's all. He wants to do what he came here to do, and none of us have been allowing him to do that."

She folded her arms, looked down at her hands. "I'm aware of that. I wish things were different, but Carson thinks he's getting closer to an answer. You know, the two of you, you're very important to us here in Atlantis." She smiled a little, looked back at him. "We don't always give people credit where they're due, but I think you deserve to hear that from me. I certainly give you enough grief about other things."

He stared for a moment. "Elizabeth, I—I really have no idea what to say, I'm not good at these little heart to heart conversations." He was babbling a little, he thought and tried to rein it in. "I, uh. Thank you."

She smiled at him. "You're welcome. Now, you better take care of that toast before it gets cold."

He did, rather hastily, and went back to John's quarters in a pensive mood. That lasted as long as it took to open John's door and see the object of his affection lying on his stomach on the bed, headphones on, apparently head banging and air-drumming.

"You," he said, lifting one of the earpieces, "Are a lunatic."

John beamed at him. "It's a great song! You gotta listen to it, Rodney. When I'm King of the World, it's a great song!"

"I will," Rodney promised, "But not right now."

"Oh, cinnamon toast," John said happily. "Oh, this is so great, don't you want any?"

Rodney took his shoes off and uncapped the bottle of apple juice, put it on the table beside the bed. "Nope, I've got what I want."

John's expression was quizzical. "What?"

"Good friends," he said and pulled off his shirt. "Work I love. You."

Goofy grin. "Cool."

"Incredibly cool," he agreed and took off his pants, got into John's narrow bed. "We need bigger beds."

"I bet we can find some somewhere in a city this size." John took a bite of his toast, hummed happily. "I drove you crazy."

Rodney raised an eyebrow. "Yes, you did."

Smug look.

"Eat your toast," he said and propped his head on his hand to watch.

That smugness of John's was rather regrettably sweet, although he didn't intend to point that out to John. He'd already run that gauntlet.

But that didn't prevent him from enjoying that, or John's loopy smile until sleep claimed them both.


	12. Chapter 12

"Off world, finally," Ford said, settling into the shotgun seat in the jumper. "Bet that feels good, sir."

"It feels fantastic," John admitted and gave Rodney a sidelong look. "Research or not, though, we're following the usual rules, people. No carelessness."

"Of course not," Rodney said, a little nettled.

"I'm just saying, we haven't been out for a while, this is no time to get sloppy." John gave him another look, this one apologetic. "It's as much a reminder to me as it is to you guys."

Teyla raised both eyebrows, but said nothing.

Ford, Rodney thought, looked a little disconcerted. "Yes, sir."

John flushed and turned back to the flight controls.

The flight itself was pretty uneventful, although he'd been right about the planet's weather. No sun, only winter overcast and snow flurries greeted them, and the area was wooded, with a clearing not too far from the source of the MALP readings that was thankfully large enough to let the jumper land.

"I don't see any sign of ruins," John said thoughtfully.

"Lots of trees," Ford said sourly. "Let's watch out for bugs, sir."

John grimaced. "Oh, yeah. And avoid them."

Rodney looked at his datapad. "This way," he said and started into the trees.

"Rodney, hold on." John's voice was sharp. "You don't go off ahead of the rest of us, you know better than that."

He bit back a sharp reply, waited until they'd caught up with him.

John nodded and went past him, weapon ready.

"That's what they pay us the big bucks for, Dr. McKay," Ford said, smiling a little.

He snorted, but Ford was right, and John was right, and he was being an ass. So he fell in behind John with Ford to one side and Teyla behind him. The tree weren't terribly thick ahead, and it looked as though there was a hill, or a mound. Something underground, he thought and his pulse sped up a little. "We're getting closer," he said and stepped closer to John. "It might be right there."

"That's a hill," John said doubtfully.

"Or a mound."

"There's a difference?" John turned, peering through the gloom. "I'm not getting a good vibe here, let's stay sharp."

"We didn't see any signs of life on the flyover," Rodney protested. "And yeah, a mound could be ruins that were eventually covered by dirt and plant growth."

"It could also be a fucking hive ship. We did check this against the data we got from that device, didn't we?"

"We did," Rodney said, trying not to snap. "We always do."

"Okay, just checking."

The readings were much stronger. "Something is under there," Rodney said. "Dammit, we need equipment."

"The Major is right, Dr. McKay, it could be Wraith technology." Teyla's voice was soft.

He nodded. "Can we keep going?"

"Yeah." John sounded oddly reluctant. "Just...stay sharp."

The hill was farther ahead than it looked, and larger than he'd thought. By the time they reached the base, John's twitchiness had grown worse, and even Teyla was looking a little spooked. It was making him a little nervous, but the readings were so strong that he couldn't dwell on it. Ford was right, he was the science guy, they were the soldiers, so he focused on that, on finding a cave entrance or an opening or some exposed piece of whatever the hill was hiding. John wasn't happy about the fact that the diameter of the hill was….well, pretty damn big, and that Rodney insisted on checking every bit of it, albeit without luck.

"There's something under there," he told John, entirely frustrated, after one complete circuit. "There's got to be a way in there."

"Well, like you said, we need different equipment," John said reasonably. "So we come back."

"Or I could go up to the top and see if there's a way in from there."

"No," Teyla said, "I do not think so. Major, I am sensing Wraith presence very faintly."

"Okay, we go back." John pointed. "Now."

"Are you sure?" Rodney asked Teyla, caught between alarm and frustration.

"I do not wish to be sure, Dr. McKay," Teyla told him, and turned back for the jumper.

"Neither do I," John said grimly. "Time to get back to the jumper."

"What?" Rodney frowned. "Wait, I need to make sure I've got the exact coordinates."

"Another time," John said and jerked his chin in the direction of the jumper. "Now, Rodney."

Frustration boiled up out of nowhere. "This could be key, and we haven't heard any of their darts, haven't seen anything that suggests—"

"Rodney." John's voice was level. "We're going and we're going now, we can check this out again later."

"The Wraith," Teyla hissed. "Dr. McKay, we must go, now!"

Dammit, he hated the Wraith with an extremely unscientific passion, but he wasn't an idiot; he turned back toward the jumper, speeding up to a run behind Teyla.

He kept glancing back at John, kept looking for movement in the trees, and it wasn't any consolation that he didn't see any; for all his irritation, he trusted Teyla's ability, and John's military sense, so he kept moving.

Ford, who had been behind him, pulled ahead as they got closer, P-90 held ready, Ford stood back to let him pass, gesturing silently—and then everything went crazy in a burst of gunfire, and movement.

He dropped his datapad, fumbled for his weapon and turned to see Ford firing, turned a little further and saw John go down, saw John's weapon land on the ground.

There were two of them, the ones he thought of as drone guards, and Ford was firing at one steadily, but John was down and the other Wraith lowered its weapon, stood over John and reached down.

For some insane reason, he was running in the wrong direction. John had told them to get to the jumper, but he wasn't going there, he was focused on the P-90 and that was really insane. He wasn't good with guns, he wasn't good with the stuff of physical heroism, he never had been, and he could hear Teyla's voice nearby, loud and incomprehensible, but didn't understand a word she said. He dove and slid—and wasn't *that* going to hurt later, he wasn't known for his physical grace--and wrapped his fingers around the P-90 as the Wraith bent over John and touched him.

The only thing he understood about any of what he was doing was that John was going to die, and he was not going to stand by and watch that helplessly, no matter how insane it was to think he was capable of saving him. His fingertips found the safety and flipped it off, found the trigger and pulled, and it felt a lot like his shoulder had just been broken, but he kept pulling while John screamed in agony, kept pulling until the Wraith flew backward and then Ford was there, pulling John along by the back of his vest and yelling something at Rodney.

He couldn't hear a thing for the noise in his ears. John's vest and shirt were torn open and there were marks on his chest, but they weren't deep, and John was breathing, not screaming, John looked okay, if shell-shocked. He somehow helped Ford get John to his feet and wedged his shoulder under John's arm before Ford turned back and began firing again, giving them cover fire. Teyla was firing, too, and he didn't even slow as he dragged John past her.

Somehow, John got his legs under him, and they made it the last few hundred yards to the jumper. Rodney was already in the pilot's seat when Ford yelled at him to go.

His hands moved automatically, and he still couldn't hear a thing past the ringing in his ears, but he got the jumper moving, got them off the ground and cloaked and then, astoundingly, through the gate without damaging anything or anyone. He watched himself as if he were standing outside his own body, watched the stranger who was grim and efficient and focused entirely on the ship instead of on the man who lay with his head cushioned by Teyla's knees.

And then he didn't understand quite how, but they were home and he was bringing the jumper down in the bay, and he couldn't remember getting there. Ford was patting his shoulder hard, saying something he still couldn't hear. He looked up, saw Ford's face, all very normal and reassuring even if Ford's lips were moving soundlessly. Ford kept patting him, and even if he couldn't hear, the touch was somehow grounding and he found he could breathe freely again at last.

Swiveling in the seat, Rodney saw John sitting up unsteadily, saw John give him a weak thumb's up. The wave of relief was so sickening that he had to brace his elbows on his knees and put his head down.

"Good job, good job." Ford kept patting him uselessly. "We're okay, we're okay, McKay, you did good."

Good? He would have given Ford an incredulous look, but he was feeling incredibly nauseated and was afraid that moving his head would make him throw up.

"Thanks, Rodney," John said hoarsely.

He had the sweet urgent desire to punch John in the mouth. "Do you," he said, breathing shallowly, "have any fucking sense of self-preservation at all, damn you?"

John blinked at him, a little wounded. "It's my *job*, Rodney."

"Well, actually, sir," Ford said, and Rodney was faintly surprised at how flinty his tone was, "it's *our* job, and it would be nice if you let me do mine."

He shared a look with Ford, and felt justified. "Thank you," he told Ford and even though he was still caught between utter terror and fury, he got out of the pilot's seat and knelt in front of John. The wounds on his chest were no more than scratches, it was apparent that the Wraith had barely had the chance to touch him before being driven back. "Next time, I'll shoot you myself."

"I hope so." John was extremely pale. "It's the least you can do."

That turned his stomach again. "Don't let it come to that," he warned John, but found he had put a hand to John's cheek. "Because it will really, really, really piss me off."

The hatch opened. He jerked his hand back, looked around to see Ford determinedly not looking at them, granting them a moment of mock-privacy, and got up, feeling decidedly wobbly. Probably not as wobbly as John, he thought, and helped Teyla get John to his feet. He let Ford take over then, mostly because he was afraid he'd fall down himself, and followed the three of them out of the jumper just as Elizabeth came to a halt at the entrance of the jumper bay with Carson about two steps behind her.

"Is everyone all right?" Elizabeth asked. "John?"

John raised his head. "'M okay, we just had a little run-in, I zigged when I should have zagged."

Rodney glared at the back of John's head.

"Dr. McKay saved his ass," Ford said bluntly.

Elizabeth turned to stare at him. "Rodney?"

"Yeah," John agreed, then, "You might wanna make sure his shoulder's okay, P-90s pack quite a kick if you're not used to it and he usually doesn't carry one."

"I'm fine," he said icily, even though his shoulder still hurt.

"Good work, Rodney," Elizabeth said, and smiled a little.

"Not really," he snapped and went past her toward the stairs.

"Shit," he heard John say unhappily and then he was past Carson, going anywhere he could breathe without remembering that he'd been dragging his heels when the Wraith had come upon them, that if he'd moved just a little faster, they wouldn't have gotten caught, that if he'd moved just a little slower, they'd have brought John's body home to Atlantis.

It took John a while to find him, but then John wasn't in the best shape, which thought made his stomach twist again, even though he'd managed not to be sick once the adrenalin rush was completely gone.

John sat down beside him on the floor in the lab without saying anything.

"I could have gotten you killed," Rodney said tightly and stared at his clenched fists.

John nudged him. "Kudzu's tough to kill."

He felt his fingernails bite into his palm. "Do you think that's *funny*?" he asked, incredulous.

John winced. "Well, maybe on a scale of 1 to 10, it's at least a 4. Rodney, I'm okay."

Rodney closed his eyes. "You could be *dead* now."

"But I'm not. If my aunt had wheels instead of legs, she'd get around a lot faster," John nudged him again. "And hell, Rodney, give yourself some credit here."

He shuddered and flinched away from John's touch. "I can't do this any more." He opened his eyes to see John's face go still. "I can't."

"Rodney, you did great." John's voice was steady, but his expression wasn't. "Come on, don't do this to yourself."

"Go away, John." He was glad John had changed his shirt; he couldn't stand seeing those scratches. "Just—just leave me alone."

After a moment, John got up, walked quietly out of the lab.

Rodney put his head in his hands and shook.

When he was sure he could stand up, Rodney went to Elizabeth's office. She looked up at him, started to speak, but he held up his hand. "Wait."

She pushed her chair back slightly and waited while he closed the door. "I can't go out in the field any more, Elizabeth. Take me off the team."

Her eyes widened. "What?"

"I'm a hazard. Take me off the team." Rodney was shaking again.

Elizabeth opened her mouth. Closed it. Pointed at a chair. "Sit."

He gave the chair an irritated look. "I don't want to sit."

"Please," she said and added, "If we're going to talk about this, I'd be more comfortable if you weren't looming, Rodney."

Well, okay, that was fair enough. Rodney sat, gripped his kneecaps hard enough to make them ache. "I'm a hazard, I could get someone killed."

Elizabeth was studying him, a very small line between her eyebrows. "Rodney, according to the rest of your team, you acted quickly and decisively."

"If I hadn't been dragging my heels, Elizabeth, we'd have already been gone."

"Not according to your team." She folded her hands. "They believe you saved John's life." Her tone was almost kind, and he flinched away from it. "John says the Wraith didn't like the taste of him, but it would certainly have killed him."

That statement silenced the refrain of self-recrimination momentarily. "It didn't like the taste of him?"

Elizabeth nodded. "He said he could feel when it, ah, spit him out." She grimaced. "Carson believes it may be the residual toxicity from the k'ria."

There was a happy thought. The Wraith didn't want John because he was poisoned or didn't have enough life energy or whatthefuckever; Rodney put his head in his hands, rubbed his forehead wearily. "God."

"Rodney, I'm not going to take you off the team. I think you need to talk this over with John and the rest of your team. If you still feel strongly after that, well, that's up to John." Elizabeth hesitated, sighed. "Crisis moments have a way of elongating, making it feel as if time is stretching out, Rodney, I don't really think you delayed your team enough to put them in danger."

Rodney kept rubbing his forehead, closed his eyes, but couldn't stop seeing John go down, couldn't stop seeing the Wraith reach down.

He heard the shift of Elizabeth's chair, opened his eyes to see her standing in front of him, and her hand was gentle on his shoulder. "Rodney, you did your best, and that best was very good indeed. Please, talk this over with your team before you make a decision."

"It's not a committee," Rodney said irritably.

Elizabeth's mouth curved. "No, but it's not precisely your area of expertise, is it?"

There was no denying that. He'd never had to worry about carrying a gun back on Earth. "All right," he finally agreed. "I'll talk to John."

She squeezed his shoulder. "Good."

It wasn't good, though. Rodney went to his quarters and took a long shower, trying to stop the voice in his head that kept telling him how close it had all been. He kept replaying Elizabeth's voice telling him that his team thought he'd saved John, not nearly killed him, and while it didn't silence the other voice, it drowned it out enough to let him stop shaking, to let Rodney stop blaming himself.

He dressed in a hurry and went in search of Ford, found him in his quarters with Teyla, both of them eating dinner at a small table near the window. "Sorry to interrupt," he said awkwardly. "I just—I spoke to Dr. Weir about resigning from the team, and she asked me to speak with the rest of my team before I did."

Teyla rose from the table, frowning. "Why do you wish to resign?"

Ford glanced at her, gestured for Rodney to come in. "I don't know what this is about, Dr. McKay, but you did good work today. Damn good work, although I think we need to work more with you on how to hold a P-90. Come on in, grab a seat."

Rodney looked at Teyla, who was still frowning at him. "Aiden is right, Dr. McKay. I admit, I did not expect your actions. You are not trained as a warrior and have little experience in actual combat."

Rodney felt shaky and more than a little embarrassed. "Exactly. I'm a potential liability in the field."

Teyla looked uncertainly at Ford for a moment. "Dr. McKay, you were definitely not a liability today."

"Look, you always argue with the Major, but you also follow orders." Ford was frowning now, but then grinned suddenly. "You just bitch while you're doing it. If that's what you're thinking, forget it. You were bitching today, but you were moving, and that was what counted. Quit worrying about it and second-guessing yourself. You want to quit the team, well, that's up to you, but don't do it because you think you fucked up. You didn't. In fact, you did a helluva lot better than I expected. We had three Wraith out there, and managed to get the hell out without losing anybody. That's what I call a successful mission, when everybody comes home."

There didn't seem to be any denying that last fact, even if it was chilling to realize there had actually been three Wraith, not two. "So why don't I feel better about it?"

"You were pretty freaked out after that business with the Wraith bug and the jumper getting stuck," Ford said kindly. "And on the team, we keep running into life or death situations. You're not trained for this stuff, McKay, you're learning on the run. It's post combat nerves."

Rodney felt tired suddenly. "Is that what it is?"

"Well, and you're one of those overthinking types," Ford added and grinned when Rodney scowled at him. "So go get some of that brew of Halling's from the mess and knock back a glass. You'll feel better."

"I doubt that," Rodney said and turned to go. Stopped and looked back at both of them. "Thank you."

Teyla smiled, finally. "You are very welcome, Dr. McKay."

"Yeah, what she said." Ford's smile was genuine. "And McKay, if you wouldn't mind, have a word with the Major. He'll set you straight."

As if he wouldn't, Rodney thought, and then remembered what John had said. "Oh, ah, yeah, I'll do that. Sorry to interrupt." He left before he could say anything stupid.

Or anything more stupid.

Maybe Elizabeth was right. He replayed the events on the planet in his mind, trying to see them objectively, but all he could remember was the stark terror of knowing he was going to try and fail to save John's life. Except he hadn't, had he. John was alive. And he, he decided, was an idiot.

No answer when Rodney knocked at John's door, and John was not in the dining hall or in Elizabeth's office or in the infirmary, although Carson said he'd been in earlier for something to help him sleep.

He went back to John's quarters, even though he told himself he was being neurotic and overreacting, went back and when there was no answer, he overrode the privacy function, thankful again for Carson's gene therapy, and opened the door.

John stood there, midway between the bed and the door, wearing unfastened uniform pants and a deer in the headlights look.

Rodney's heart thumped hard and he blurted. "Elizabeth won't let me resign from the team."

John blinked. "What?"

Impatience flared briefly. "I said, she wouldn't let me resign from the team. She insisted I discuss it with you and Ford and Teyla. I discussed it with them." Rodney caught his breath, studied John, and didn't like what he saw. John's eyes were red-rimmed, John was pale, and Carson, obviously, had disinfected and bandaged the punctures left by the damned Wraith because he could smell the betadine under the gauze pad. "You look terrible, what did Carson give you?"

John ran a hand through his shorn hair. "I—he wouldn't give me anything but Atarax. What do you mean, resign from the team?"

"John, are you tracking?" Rodney let the door close behind him, took a step closer.

John shook his head irritably. "I'm fine, what do you mean, resign?"

"I could have gotten you killed," he told John again, but now he wasn't so sure.

John just stared at him.

"Okay, you're worrying me," Rodney said, giving that line of conversation up for the moment. "Will you sit down before you fall on your face? I like your nose the way it is, I thought we'd established that last night."

As if to prove his point, John wobbled in place. "Is *that* what you meant in the lab?" Hoarsely. "When you said you couldn't do this any more? The team?"

He stared at John and things fell into place in his mind with an almost audible click. "God, of course!"

"Oh." Faintly and then John did sit down. "Jesus, Rodney, you and Ford saved my life, and maybe Teyla's too, and I expect him to know what to do, he's a fucking Marine, you're a scientist."

Rodney's tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth. "John," he began and then gave it up, sat down beside him. "Are you nuts?" he asked fiercely. "Did you really think I meant…." Words failed him again; they'd never named it, never referred to it, they'd just done it. He gestured vaguely, helplessly.

John blinked hard, swallowed audibly. "Well, yeah, that's what it sounded like." Hesitant, utterly unlike John Sheppard tone of voice.

Uncertain tone.

God, Rodney had been more right than he knew, he did hold power here, and now he didn't want it, didn't want anything that would make it possible for him to put that look in anyone's eyes.

Except.

Except Rodney wasn't the only one with power now, and wasn't that the hilarious and wonderful, terrifying, awful thing? "John," he said hoarsely, and put his arm around John's shoulders. "You're usually smarter than that."

John looked away. "I don't have the best track record," he said rustily. "That's all."

Like he did. Rodney said as much, which made John smile crookedly at him, and then it was okay. Or, at least, it was okay enough that John didn't have those terrible eyes. He rested his forehead against John's, sighed. "Jesus, John."

John's fingers curved delicately around the back of his neck. "So, we're good?" Almost a whisper.

They were probably both certifiable, but Rodney wasn't going to reject the gift, hell no, hell no, hell no. Instead of answering, he kissed John's mouth, gently at first, and then hungrily, holding John's face between his hands. "I want everything," he murmured into John's mouth. "I want you."

John caught his breath audibly and his eyes widened. "Rodney?"

He smiled a little. "The genius and the major, right?"

"Just don't call me a jock." A hint of laughter, and that was okay, they could laugh in bed.

It was more than okay, even if Rodney got impatient with the fact that John was treating him like glass and he finally had to roll John over and just straddle him. "I've done this before," he told John tartly. "Although it's been a while."

"It better have been," John told him and gasped as Rodney stroked lube over him. "Just, you know, you don't have to rush—oh, my god," as Rodney sank down.

Rodney took a breath, focused on relaxing, on letting it happen, and the burn shifted swiftly to something else, and John's face was, God, incredible, and why in hell had he waited this long? John's nerves were one thing, but he knew what he wanted, what he liked, and this was a brilliant idea.

It was intense, John had that right, and it was good, and then John was all the way in, and he closed his eyes, caught his breath again. "Oh, yeah," he said hoarsely. "Good idea. I really am a genius."

John's fingers closed on his hips, not gently. "Don't. Move." Urgently.

Rodney opened his eyes again. "Why not?" Huskily.

John whimpered. "Just…give me a minute."

He moved anyway, and John's hips arched up. Pleasure sparked along nerve endings and he moved again, seeking more. Oh, yeah, like that, like that, and John's face…he leaned down and licked John's throat, reached down and touched himself, stroking himself in a counter to the rhythm of John's hips, to the shift of John's fingers on his skin and bone.

"Oh, God, Rodney." Breathless, hoarse, and one of John's hands moved to his bicep, gripped and pulled him down even as John arched up, and John's other hand covered his, stroking him harder, John's tongue was in his mouth and Rodney was abruptly sure that neither one of them was going to last long, it had been too close a call, too much adrenaline, too much terror and relief and he freed his hand, let John stroke him and put his palms down on either side of John's head, braced himself to push down to meet each of John's thrusts.

He was going to be the one sitting on his hip tomorrow and he didn't give a damn, it was too good to regret, it was always too good to regret, and maybe it was time for them both to grow up and just deal with the fact that they'd somehow stumbled into a real relationship about the time they were on the downhill slope toward forty.

John let go of his arm, put that hand on the back of Rodney's neck, stroked his cock demandingly with the other and oh, yeah, oh, yeah, heat and pleasure and then a wrench at his nerves and belly as his balls drew up and tightened and he cried out and came hard, his body clenching on John's cock.

John held on to him, gasped into his mouth, and God, he could swear he felt John's cock swell. He certainly felt the heat, the slippery sensation, and then John's arms were both around him, holding on with something akin to desperation.

He kissed John, gentled them both through the aftershocks, and if John's grip was still a little too strong, it was okay, he was tough enough to handle that.


	13. Chapter 13

Later, after a shower, they were in John's bed again, and Rodney was floating on the edge of sleep when John rubbed his chest. "You aren't gonna quit the team, are you?"

He jerked slightly, startled from sleep. "Wha?" Oh. "No, I told you, Elizabeth wouldn't let me and then I talked to Ford and Teyla."

John's mouth brushed his shoulder. "Good."

He put his hand over John's, closed his eyes briefly. "Yeah. Roll over."

After a moment, John did, and Rodney slid up behind him, put his arm around John's waist, and heard a comfortable sigh. "Go to sleep," he murmured and slipped his leg between John's.

"Uh huh." John's fingers laced with his. "Sounds good to me."

Rodney closed his eyes again. "It's going to be okay," he muttered and then, then he could let himself float away from the edge, out into the deeps.

John was alive, they were all alive, and Atlantis had a way of teaching him the hard lessons about being human and maybe, for the first time, really experiencing life outside of the theoretical. He wasn't sure he liked the scary parts, but from this vantage, the good stuff had a way of making up for it.

And then he was dreaming, dreaming of the sea, and watching the surf, all very nonsensical in the last lucid moments before he fell off that edge.

 

"Dr. McKay's pretty sure this could be important, but with the Wraith showing up, I can't recommend any kind of expedition. At least not without one helluva lot more intel, and I can't even necessarily recommend any sorties in that direction without any guarantee that it's worth risking personnel." John gave Rodney an apologetic look.

He nodded peaceably. They'd already had this out prior to the briefing, and he had to admit the sense of it. While the possibilities were intriguing, and possibly useful, he wasn't entirely sure himself that the possible benefits justified the risks.

Elizabeth looked at him, one eyebrow raised. "Dr. McKay?"

"Without mounting any kind of full-scale dig to unearth whatever's under that mound, I have to agree with Major Sheppard," Rodney said regretfully. "We can't get to the energy source without excavation and we can't risk the excavation if the Wraith are there, obviously."

Elizabeth looked at the printouts. "Well, that's that, then. I'd like us to explore other options while we can. If it becomes more crucial for us to investigate, we'll look at this again as a resource."

"Sounds reasonable to me." John glanced at Rodney again, then around the table at Ford and Teyla. "I, ah, guess I ought to let you know that as of this morning, Dr. Beckett has taken me back off flight status. He's got a treatment he wants to try."

Rodney sat up straight. "What kind of treatment?"

John flushed and gestured. "Something experimental. He's isolated something in that herbal remedy that the Gansha gave him, says it will flush that stuff out."

"How experimental?" Rodney asked sharply.

John shrugged, avoided his gaze. "I'm not up on medical cutting edge, so I dunno. It sounds like it'll work, and frankly, I'm good with that."

Elizabeth seemed to be at a loss for words.

"So how long?" Ford asked. "I mean, how long do you think you'll be out of commission, sir?"

John seemed relieved. "He didn't seem to think more than a week or two. I gather the first couple of days, I'll probably feel pretty crappy, but after that, it's just recovery time."

"Well," Elizabeth said. "Then we'll think positive thoughts. I know how frustrating this is for you."

John shrugged, looked sidelong at Rodney. "Yeah, I'd like to get back to 100 percent."

Elizabeth nodded. "Well, then, we're done here. Thank you all. Major, I'll talk to you later today about who's going to take over what for you while you're unavailable."

John nodded. "Yeah, I need to meet with my people to get that laid out, and then I'll pass the duty roster over to you."

Rodney managed to keep his mouth shut until they were out of the briefing room. "This all happened this morning?"

John grimaced. "Yeah, he told me to stop by after breakfast to have a look at—" A shrug, and John tapped his chest.

"Ah." Rodney was going to talk to Carson at his first opportunity.

John eyed him. "Get that look off your face, you know how tough kudzu is to kill."

"That's not any funnier today than it was yesterday," Rodney snapped.

John sighed. "I'm just saying, I trust the Doc, I'll be fine. You really have got work on that pessimism, Rodney. We're not always doomed, ya know, and I'm pretty damn tough, toxic tea or not."

"Says the man who told me he had things he didn't want going unsaid," Rodney muttered.

"Yeah, and you threatened to shove me off the balcony." John's mouth curved. "So, hey, I listened for a change, give me credit."

Rodney couldn't help smiling at that. "Yes, there is that."

John grinned and leaned a little closer. "And anyway, I can't complain, at least I got the guts to kiss you."

Rodney flushed at that, remembering too well. "Oh, yes."

Another grin, and John patted his shoulder. "So don't worry. Now I have to go do the military thing. I'll see you later, okay."

"Yes, you will," Rodney told him and then went immediately to the infirmary.

"Rodney, you've told me yourself that you don't want all the details of medical procedure," Carson said patiently. "I want Major Sheppard here because the process puts a fair amount of strain on liver and kidneys and I want to minimize that. Which requires some unorthodox procedures."

"Unorthodox how?"

Carson patted his shoulder. "You remember that notion you had about hemodialysis?"

Rodney frowned. "I thought you didn't have the right equipment?"

"We built the right equipment." Carson looked at him expectantly.

"You built it." Rodney thought he should be more impressed with that, but it just made his stomach upset. "And you're sure you built it right?"

"Rodney, would I argue with you about wormhole physics?" Carson's tone was patient.

"Point taken." He still felt unsettled. "How bad is this going to be?"

"It's going to be very uncomfortable," Carson told him. "But he's going to be here under observation, and we'll do as much as we can to keep it from being too bad."

The sound of it made Rodney's stomach more rather than less upset. "Define very uncomfortable."

Carson sighed. "No worse than he's felt at the worst of it, Rodney. Nausea and headache, perhaps a bit of dizziness."

"Oh." Better, better, and John was right, he had to stop thinking worst-case scenario. "So he can have visitors."

"Oh, yes. The distraction might be just the ticket." Carson nodded firmly. "Books, DVDs, and visitors, all good."

Huh. Rodney might be able to organize something, and even if he couldn't, he could suggest it to Ford. "Got it," he told Carson and left for his office.

It was Ford, in fact, who came to his office a little past midday, carrying a tray. "The Major asked me to make sure you got something to eat."

Rodney all but gaped at Ford. "What?"

Ford grinned. "Doc Beckett's got him in the infirmary. So you decided you'd tough it out with us on the team, huh?"

"Yes, I did." He looked at the tray, completely taken aback. "Uh, thank you."

"No problem." Ford grinned, put the tray on his desk. "So Dr. Weir says we can check out those mineral deposits you were telling her about the other day."

Rodney frowned. "Well, we'll see." He wasn't sure he wanted to be gone.

"Might want to take the chance while Major Sheppard's out. He says when this is done, you're not going to get as much of a chance for the purely science trips." Ford's grin widened. "I think he's afraid we'll visit him in the infirmary."

"That sounds likely," Rodney said tartly. "And speaking of which, Carson did say that distraction would be good, so I was thinking books and DVDs. My personal laptop has the software for the DVDs, so if you know of anyone who brought anything interesting, see if they'll lend it. Kavanaugh even brought something." He tapped a stack of DVD cases.

Ford laughed. "Now *that's* a surprise. Great idea, I'll talk to our guys." He moved toward the door. "Eat that before it gets cold." He grinned at Rodney's expression before he left. "Hey, just following orders."

Rodney flushed, suddenly sure that John was right, Ford had figured things out. That was potentially worrisome, except…except it was obvious that Ford's opinion of John hadn't changed. Ford's respect and liking for John had always been clear almost from the start: liking and respect that Ford had shown in spite of Sumner's opinion, which had not appeared to be favorable, from what little he'd gathered from Elizabeth.

And Rodney wasn't going to think about that now or he'd drive himself right back into thinking about certain doom. No, he was going to take these things over to the infirmary and indulge himself in making sure that John was okay.

The moment he got there, of course, that went out the window, because John was lying in a bed, looking more than just a little wiped out, with some kind of plastic shunt in his neck and an IV in his arm.

He looked far worse than Rodney had expected, even in his worst-case scenario brain. "That looks pretty awful," he blurted.

"It feels pretty awful," John said and shifted. "It reminds me a lot of that fucking bug."

Rodney winced at that, hefted his laptop. "I, uh, brought you something to distract you."

John actually brightened. "Yeah?"

He dropped the DVDs on the bed, let John look them over and put the laptop on the table next to the bed. "Ford's rounding up some other things, too."

John looked up, smiled a little. "I brought War and Peace."

"So, what page are you up to now?" He couldn't help returning that smile, even if his stomach *was* upset.

"Well, someone's been keeping me busy in my free time," John said slyly, "So I'm a little behind on my schedule."

Rodney's stomach eased up a bit. If John could make jokes, it couldn't be that bad, could it? Of course, John had been making jokes with that Wraith thing killing him, and no, he was not going to go there at the moment. "Ah, well, maybe you can catch up now."

"Maybe." John went back to examining DVDs. "Cool. I missed a lot of these down in McMurdo." He looked at Rodney. "You eat lunch?"

"Yes, I did, and what were you thinking?" He kept his tone light.

John shrugged. "Well, you know, your blood sugar. You wouldn't have that problem if you ate fairly regular meals instead of working in twelve hour binges." Another sly look.

John was deliberately winding him up, he realized and laughed. "If you're trying to get rid of me, it's not going to work."

John's grin was mischievous. "Just as long as you don't hang around and drive Carson nuts. I'm the one they're poking holes in."

"Ah, I see the plan now. For your information, Ford's already seen through it, too. He's convinced you want us to check out the other site to keep us from hanging around and bothering you."

"Damn, can't put anything by you guys." John let his head fall back on the pillow, but then looked directly at Rodney. "I just, you know, figured you might want to be busy. Doc says I could end up feeling pretty crappy and not exactly up to talking."

"And of course, that's my only interest in you is your ability to make conversation."

John raised both eyebrows. "Well, there is one other reason, but I won't be up to that, either."

"Let me rephrase that," he said hastily, "And no, those aren't the only things I find interesting about you, you idiot."

John's grin was pretty comforting. "Well, okay, just don't freak out and yell at Carson. He's spent a lot of time making those damn mice sick so he can fix this."

"I only freak out when our jumper is stuck in the gate." It made John laugh, so he was glad he'd said it, but his throat was feeling suspiciously tight. "I'd better get back to work. Ah, I'll, ah, stop by later, unless you've got objections."

"We can watch one of these," John told him and tapped the DVDs.

Rodney nodded and made his escape before he started thinking worst case again.


	14. Chapter 14

The first evening wasn't too bad. John was feeling a little queasy, but claimed it was because of the shunt. On the following evening, Carson veered toward him when he appeared, shaking his head.

"He's no' feeling well at all, Rodney. I gave him something to help him sleep a bit."

Rodney looked helplessly at the curtain drawn around John's bed and back at Carson. "Well, I'll just leave the book on his table, then."

"It's all right, Carson, Rodney won't wake him." Elizabeth's voice was very soft.

Rodney turned to see her coming toward him, opened his mouth and closed it when she touched his arm lightly. "Go ahead, Rodney."

Carson's expression was perplexed. "Very well, but let him sleep."

He could have kissed Elizabeth.

"Carson, would you mind updating me on the Major's condition?" Elizabeth held Rodney's gaze for just a moment, smiled faintly.

"Of course not," Carson said and Rodney took that moment to slip behind the curtain.

John's eyes opened briefly as he stood by the bed, and he wasn't sure if John was really awake, so contented himself with tugging the blanket straight. When he sat down in the chair next to John's bed, John's eyes tracked him, so he leaned forward. "Go back to sleep." Softly. "I'll be here."

John fumbled his hand free of the blanket and held it out; Rodney took it, gently squeezed, tried to let go, but John wasn't letting go. "Anything you need," he said softly. "Anything."

John's eyes closed briefly. "Read." The barest whisper.

Carson was going to kill him. Rodney cleared his throat and opened to the first page of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.

He read to the end of the first chapter and John roused again to demand the next. He went through three chapters that way before Carson caught him.

"Rodney, I told you not to wake him," Carson said irascibly.

Rodney ignored this, and looked at John, who raised his head slightly, seemingly heedless of the fact that they were holding hands in the Atlantis base infirmary. "Wasn't asleep." Rusty voice.

Carson looked from John to Rodney and from Rodney to John and apparently, the penny dropped. "Ah. Well, then, how are you doing?"

"Little better." John didn't seem inclined to move and he was obviously saving his energy. "Maybe some ice?"

"I think I can arrange that." Carson came over to the bed anyway, checked the IV drip. "I think we'll see if we get good results from the lower dose, Major. I dinna want to push too hard."

"I appreciate that." John's fingers tightened slightly on Rodney's. "Believe me."

"Do you think you might be able tolerate some juice with the ice?" Carson asked softly. "Just a wee bit, perhaps?"

"Maybe." John closed his eyes again. "Not too much. Not too sweet or tart."

Carson patted his other arm. "I'll see what we can do." He nodded at Rodney apologetically. "We're basically flushing the toxin out of the organs it's been hidin' in and filtering it out so the concentrated amount doesn't damage either his liver or kidneys."

John's eyes half-opened. "Dialysis sucks, Rodney."

He winced. "But it's working?"

"It seems to be." Carson patted John again. "And well it should, I've put enough of those mice to the test."

John made a sound that wasn't quite laughter. "All the mice that died to save my liver."

Rodney squeezed again, a little harder. "To save your life," he told John sharply.

"Whatever." John managed the ghost of a smile.

"I'll see to that ice," Carson said kindly and left them alone again.

"Sorry," John said faintly. "I spent the afternoon puking my guts up, so I'm a little cranky."

"You're entitled. Should I read some more?" Rodney rubbed his thumb on the soft skin just inside John's wrist.

John's fingers curled over his again. "Yeah, please. I love this book."

So Rodney went back to reading. Carson brought iced apple juice not long after, and John drank some of it before finally falling asleep.

"How did this much toxin get into his body?" Rodney asked Carson quietly. "I mean, he had to be drinking gallons of that goddamned tea."

"Well, he does appear to have consumed a fair amount," Carson admitted. "And it's in all the Gansha food samples we brought back. It's just much more concentrated in the k'ria leaves. As far as I can tell now, he may have been just a few days away from a lethal dose of toxicity, so you probably saved his life by noticing he was taking ill." Carson gave him a long look. "That's what, four or five times, now?"

Rodney gestured irritably. "Well, the first time I was trying to save all our lives, so since my own neck was involved, I'm not sure it counts."

Carson snorted and shook his head. "I think he'll have a few more bad days, Rodney, but we're watching the levels quite closely, I don't want to overtax him."

"And then he'll be fine." He looked at John, face tucked into the infirmary pillow, the hand he'd been holding palm up, fingers lax in sleep. "Right?"

"Well, it may take a few days, but I daresay he'll be as healthy as he was when we got here." Carson smiled again. "Just give him a few days. By all rights, Rodney, given what I've learned about the effect this has on those with the ATA gene, he should have been bedridden when he got back. He's tough."

"Obviously." Rodney sighed. "I should get some work done while he's asleep."

Carson eyed him. "Go and get some supper, Rodney. Before you end up here."

Right. He sighed. "I'll check back later. Er, thanks, Carson."

"We'll take good care of him," Carson said kindly.

Carson he trusted, even if he really sometimes did believe the rest of the universe was out to do him in. He nodded and left to get something to eat.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Carson wasn't wrong; the next two days were fairly awful. Scarily awful, to Rodney's eyes, although John seemed resigned to whatever went on when Rodney wasn't actually there. He stopped in the morning to see John, and John was reasonably chipper, but by the evening, John's energy was generally non-existent and the day's nausea had flattened him.

Rodney hated feeling helpless. He hated especially feeling helpless to do anything that could actually help John, other than reading his way through Douglas Adams steadily. He was actually developing quite a good reading style, and counted it a victory when something got that phantom smile. Sure, it was probably Adams getting the smile, but he liked to think he contributed to it.

In the late evening, John generally roused long enough to gripe at him to go get some   
sleep, and even if he felt guilty about it, he felt guiltier about John rousing to gripe at him, so he went.

Rodney wasn't used to having something in his life other than his work that made him happy. He wasn't used to thinking that he could have anything in his life other than his work that made him happy. When John managed to sleep, he watched John breathe, wondering how in the world the two of them had collided and marveling at it.

On the fourth morning, John was still asleep when he came by to bother Carson for the latest health report.

"The worst is over, Rodney," Carson told him quietly, obviously well pleased with the latest round of blood work. "I'm takin' the shunt out today, and tomorrow, he'll be off the IV. One more day here, I think, to be on the safe side."

"Really?" He looked at John, who was burrowed into the pillow. "Seriously?"

"Seriously." Carson patted his shoulder. "Come back around midday, he'll be well awake then, and a lot more comfortable than he has been."

Rodney was in such a good mood for the rest of the morning that even Kavanaugh behaved decently in a staff meeting. In the usual bi-weekly departmental heads meeting with Elizabeth, Rodney didn't get impatient when Corrigan went on and on about the need to return to the mainland for a proper archaeological study. He delivered his own report briskly, concisely and managed to sit without drumming his fingers on the table until the meeting ended.

"Rodney," Elizabeth said, as he was on his way out. She smiled and walked out with him. "Carson told me there's good news."

"Yes," he agreed, "John's responded well enough to the treatment that Carson said the shunt could come out."

Elizabeth nodded. "Great news. Are you going over there?"

He ought to feel more embarrassed, but he wasn't. "Actually, yes."

"Give him our good thoughts," she said softly, and smiled. "It'll be wonderful seeing him back to normal."

"He's still been fairly normal," Rodney said. "Just thinner and more easily tired."

"Well, yes," she agreed. "I think maybe it's that last. He's always had this sort of contained energy, and lately, I think, it seemed less contained and more like he was...measuring it out."

The statement struck hard. Had he seen that? He thought he had. He wondered if back to normal meant something more than he'd been expecting and it left his stomach unsettled again.

When he got to the infirmary, though, John was sitting upright, eating what looked like scrambled eggs and toast, with a steaming cup of not-coffee. There was a square of gauze taped over the side of his throat where the shunt had been, although the IV was still in. "Hey!" he greeted Rodney cheerfully. "Look, I'm shunt free."

"I see that." He couldn't help returning that smile. "And eating."

"Oh, yeah," John said, heartfelt tone. "I'm starving. You can tell, I'm eating scrambled powdered eggs." He shoveled a bit onto the toast and took a bite, hummed happily.

He laughed at that. "God, you look better."

John smiled, that sweet lopsided smile. "I *feel* better."

Carson poked his head around the curtain, smiled beneficently. "How's the patient?"

"Pretty damn fine, Doc." John took a sip from his cup. "Man, that's good."

Carson chuckled. "I told you he was tough, Rodney."

"I told him, too. I hope he listened better to you." John's expression was so damn warm and affectionate, it made Rodney's throat tighten again.

"Rodney's a bit of a doomsayer," Carson said lightly. "But I think we convinced him this time."

"As long as you don't feel the urge to run on a wheel," Rodney said firmly.

Carson chuckled. "No retrovirus this time, Rodney, only good old fashioned medicine." He withdrew, leaving them alone again.

John eyed him. "You're thinking too much again, Rodney."

"How can anyone think too much?" he asked, a touch of acid in his voice. "Now thinking too little, I think most of the population—"

"Rodney." John kept looking at him. "Now what are you worrying about?"

"I'm not worrying about anything," he protested.

"You've got that little line in your forehead and that set to your mouth." John took another sip. "Come on, Rodney, talk to me."

"I don't," he began and then sighed. "I'm waiting for the other shoe to fall."

John blinked, considered that, and frowned. "Like what?"

He felt his mouth twist, leaned back in the chair. "Well, it could be anything. The Wraith could attack tomorrow, Kavanaugh and Zelenka could blow up the city, you could come to your senses."

"I thought you said I was smarter than that." Mildly.

"Precisely," he agreed.

John frowned again. "You're pissing me off here."

"Or that."

John leaned forward suddenly, pushed the table back, and grabbed his arm to pull him up. Amused in spite of himself, he let himself be tugged, found the front of his shirt grasped and John was kissing him hard.

In the infirmary.

He pulled back. "Have you lost your mind?"

"Nope." John gave him a steady look. "Don't piss me off, Rodney, I'm in a good mood here."

"Fair enough." He touched John's face. "I'll do my best, but John, I'm who I am."

"And you think I don't know that?" John raised an eyebrow.

Rodney did smile, then. "Point taken."

John handed him the cup. "Here, drink some of this, you'll feel better."

Bemused, Rodney took a sip. "You think I need caffeine?"

"It's not caffeine." John smirked at him. "But Doc says it's similar. And actually, I was wondering if your blood sugar's low or something. Maybe you should eat some of my breakfast."

He started to laugh again, even if his chest and throat felt too tight. "I'm fine. Now who's worrying?"

Something flickered in John's eyes, and he thought it might be relief. God. He gave the cup back, put the rail down, and sat on the edge of the bed, which action was rewarded by the sunniest of smiles.

"You know, Rodney," John said conversationally, "For a genius, you sure can be dumb sometimes." He nudged Rodney with his foot.

Laughter bubbled up out of nowhere, laughter, and something else that combined relief and desire and, God help him, trust. Trust in John, if not the universe, he thought with lunatic clarity. "All right, all right, I get it. Elizabeth just said something about being glad when you're back to normal."

Both John's eyebrows rose. "Well, seeing as Elizabeth has never seen me normal, I'm not sure I'd worry about that."

That was unreasonably comforting. "Never mind, it was just a residual twitch."

John picked up the cup again, smiled over the rim, a secret smile, a delighted smile, a sweet smile. "When I get what I want, I keep it. It doesn't happen all that often."

"Is that a threat?" Rodney managed to say it lightly.

"It's a promise."

He took hold of John's wrist gently, swept his thumb along the soft skin. "Better be careful, I'll hold you to it."

"I'm counting on it." That secret smile again. "In case you haven't figured it out, genius, I'm in for the long run."

Wonderful, awful and terrifying, how much power they both had over each other's hearts, he thought distantly and leaned forward to rest his forehead on John's. "I don't have much practice at that."

"Me, either. Figure we can muddle through together, just like on Gansha."

Gansha, where the whole thing had begun. Maybe he owed the Shanri an apology. "Gansha," he repeated, laughing a little. "Hmmm, maybe I should thank the Shanri for more than the ZPMs," he said, and leaned forward to kiss John's mouth gently.

"I hope you don't mean the tea," John murmured and kissed him back.

Laughing into John's mouth, he thought that maybe, in a strange way, he did.


	15. Chapter 15

The planet was called T'kra, and they were at the coast, in the tropics. It was balmy and breezy, and even if Rodney McKay was iffy on idea of surfing, the sea was beautiful and blood warm and the leaders of the people who called themselves the Tikar were all very interested in sharing tea.

Another planet, another exploration, more diplomatic contacts, and even if his skills were nonexistent and John's were primitive, Teyla's still stood them in good stead.

They were greeted, fed, and put up in comparative comfort, and walking through the warm night under two moons was downright pleasant, since winter still gripped Atlantis. Teyla and Ford had lagged behind, admiring the view of the city, and Rodney and John were on their way to their assigned--Rodney referred to it as a hotel, although Teyla didn't seem to think that was the exact translation once the word had been defined for her.

"So, no ZPMs," John said. "I'm getting disappointed."

"It's not quite as critical now that we have the two from Gansha." Rodney looked up at the sky. "It's still just plain weird to look at the constellations."

"Here or on Atlantis."

"Both." He bumped against John's arm. "Why are you disappointed?"

John smiled; he could see John's cheek curve. "Well, I keep hoping we find some so we can offer to trade again."

Frowning, Rodney glanced at him. "Why?"

John laughed softly. "Because now I'm qualified to make the trade."

It took him a beat to get it. "Excuse me, if you think I'm letting just anyone get a look at you, you have seriously lost your mind. Seriously. Worse than when you went for that price the first time."

John snickered. "We could still practice. You know, just in case."

Rodney looked sidelong, smiled at John's profile. "Under the theory that practice makes perfect?"

"I'm just thinking of Atlantis." Almost prim tone.

"Of course you are," he said soothingly.

"It's our duty."

"Indubitably."

John goosed him and took off running. "Last one to the room tops," he called back and in spite of the fact that Teyla and Ford weren't *that* far behind him, Rodney began to laugh.


End file.
